What We Are Willing to Give
by A Beauty to the Rhythm
Summary: Castle and Beckett go on the run. With these two, how could it not turn into an epic adventure with lots of suspense, fluff, and humor? This fic has boats, trains, helicopters, and eighteen wheelers, not to mention some very unusual wedding vows, so come along for the ride! A must-read before the Season 7 Premier, and completely spoiler-free. Now Complete.
1. Murder Board

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* * *

**Chapter One  
**Murder Board  
(Castle)

* * *

His unconscious mind is stark. An empty murder board. The whiteness of it, lit by the lamps of late night, is swallowed time and again by the ebb and flow of darkness before he understands that there is something missing.

Kate.

Her silhouette, swaying as she writes. The squeak of the whiteboard marker as information is laid out, the snap of the magnet as another photograph is added, facts accumulating until they lead to a discovery.

He analyzes the facts at hand. There aren't many. Sometimes, there is pain, dull and sharp at the same time, but mostly there is just a humming quiet. So quiet that he can't think. This isn't his mind; what has happened to his mind? What happened to the cacophonous commotion of a thousand budding ideas pushing up through the soil, the real and imagined feelings that are his constant companions?

Then, just as the blank murder board emerges from another darkness, he's flooded with the cloying, sweet scent of maraschino cherries. It's not Kate, then. When she smelled of cherries it was light and delicate, radiating from the heat of her lips or the crown of her head_. _

A memory surfaces. Of them, rising and falling in the early light of morning, a phone call, an important victim, no time for a shower or even to finish what they'd started, him following her into her bathroom and into a cherry flavored cloud of dust. Pulling her nakedness up against his, growling "So that's why you smelled more intensely of cherries that day."

Memory Kate finishes spraying the cherry-scented dry shampoo on her roots and turns in his arms.

"You mean the comic book case? How close were you?" she asks, bringing her lips almost to his. "To kissing me?"

"Pretty damn close. What would you have done if I had?"

"Kissed you back. I would have always kissed you back."

Wait. Maybe that's just what her eyes were saying. She'd actually said something like _"fought you off_" or _"we were at work, what was I supposed to do?"_

Besides, she doesn't smell like cherries anymore. He's done a lot of growing up since meeting her, but she's grown up as well. He's always wondered how much of her wardrobe and makeup evolution was inspired by working with him. That choppy bob, the Bonnie Bell cherry chap-stick (for the record, he has no idea how one tube ended up in the drawer of his bedside table during that second year) and the off-the-rack blazers were cute, but she's in a whole other league now they're six years down the road. It's all Helmut Lang and romantic waves and the perfect, expensive balance of vanilla and musk now. But he still likes it best when the only thing she smells of is him.

So the overwhelming cherry scent - that's definitely not her. That's the first fact, then. It appears, letter by letter, on the whiteboard.

_She's not here with me._

And then the second:

_I miss her._

The pain returns and another curtain of darkness descends.


	2. Control

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* * *

**Chapter Two**  
Control  
(Beckett)

* * *

I_ will not break._

_I will not break._

_I will not break._

Kate stares as hungry flames lick up the sides of her fiancé's car. The heat rises in waves that distort the blue of the sky above. She doesn't know yet if Castle is inside, but even the possibility is paralyzing. For a handful of heavy, lethargic heartbeats, Kate lets the horrific magnitude of the moment pummel at her chest, crush the breath from her lungs, and pull a silent scream from her throat.

And then she shuts it down.

She hikes up the skirt of her wedding dress and marches down the shoulder of the road, forced off the pavement by a long row of emergency vehicles. Her heels sink into the dirt and she twists an ankle, but the pain doesn't register.

She has buried Kate before, and she can do it again.

But under her steel, there's a wavering uncertainty. There is a very large part of her that wants to head straight for the car, a part that would risk third degree burns and smoke-stung lungs to reach into the fire and - if she can't save him - join him.

The Kate she knows now - the one that Castle has coaxed out over the years - is infinitely softer and more alive than Kate at nineteen. It's not going to be easy to subdue this Kate.

Castle teases her about having a split personality, and she's never felt it more intensely than in this moment. Kate is the one who's jumping to conclusions here; Beckett is the one keeping her head. Asking the important questions. Was Castle even in the car at the time of the accident? If he was in it, did the car catch fire before or after they pulled him out? Was it a single or multiple car incident? There are so many questions. Fortunately, one of her personalities happens to be skilled at getting answers.

So it's Beckett who veers away from the burning wreckage and heads towards the line of response vehicles, scanning the personnel and instantly singling out the man in charge. Her instincts are rarely wrong, and they don't fail her now.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD."

She wants to scream _"Why the hell isn't the fire contained?"_ but she keeps it reigned in.

The Battalion Chief's badge glints in the sunlight. She aches for clouds, for rain; will they ever escape these impossibly bright days, the green of a perfectly manicured lawn or a canopy of leaves destined to be mocking reminders of their tragedies?

_This can't be a tragedy. Please, no, it can't be a tragedy._

The Chief looks supremely unsettled. Perhaps he wasn't expecting a lunatic in a wedding dress to walk up to him and introduce herself as a cop. All those years of wearing harsh jackets and austere button-ups to work, and here she is about to bellow orders wearing _this_. She smooths her palms over the lace of her mother's dress. She shouldn't have worn it. Her parents' marriage ended with death, and now hers might also. Only, she doesn't even have a marriage to end.

"Look," Kate flicks her eyes down to read the man's name from his badge, "Chief Hodgkins, I know you must think I'm unhinged, but I am actually a detective, and I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what happened to my fiancé's car."

"Ma'am, can I ask you to step over here?" Another shard of hope splinters and vanishes. If Castle was being attended to in the ambulance parked behind the fire engine, Hodgkins would have said so immediately.

"I can have Rudy make you a coffee or - "

"I don't want a fucking _coffee_, I want to know what happened," she hisses.

Well, so much for keeping it reigned in. Still, she'd managed to deliver the demand with a seething, professional anger, not the throat-grating scream it should have been.

"Right, uh, the tire tracks indicate that the car swerved pretty dramatically before it went off road."

"Was there another vehicle involved?"

"No evidence of one, ma'am, but if you're thinking it was a hit and run, there's no obvious structural damage to the car, and anything minor would have been consumed by the fire before we arrived on the scene. We've got the local sheriff on the way - "

"CSU?"

Hodgkin's tone is gentle, like he's talking to a child. "Even if we did have evidence that this was anything more than an accident, our CSU team would take about half an hour to get here."

Half an hour. Not good enough.

"Put the fire out. I have a team on the way, we'll have a look first."

It's not a lie, exactly, Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie are undoubtedly only a few minutes behind.

"Ma'am, I understand you have a personal connection to this accident," (Kate scowls at that - personal connection is understating it a bit) "but even if you had a badge to prove to me that you're a cop, you don't have jurisdiction here. I can offer you a seat in the truck and a drink, and we'll call your family here to be with you."

Beckett lifts her foot, propping one white satin heel on the grill of the fire truck and starts pulling fistfuls of organza up to her knee. Her hand disappears and she roots around for a second. She unclips her badge from her navy blue garter and thrusts it into Hodgkin's face.

Not exactly how she wanted to reveal that little surprise.

"Sir, that is my fiancé's car, yes, but it is also my partner's car. A _cop's_ car. I'm taking over this case, and I'd appreciate it if you started treating it like a case involving one of our own."

She hears the slam of car doors and turns away from the Battalion Chief. For just a second, before Esposito and Ryan are close enough to see, she digs her teeth into her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. God, what a mess. She shouldn't have left without them, she should have stopped to repeat the whole phone conversation instead of just shouting the address at them as she ran out of the house.

The phone call hadn't been terribly informative anyway, she rationalizes. No need to get Alexis and Martha worked up. Just a clipped, detached insurance representative asking "is this Ms. Katherine Beckett? Our records indicate you were recently added to the title for a 2013 Mercedes CLS550 with the license plate ADJ 4618; is that correct? There's been an accident involving your car off Highway 495 near Medford…"

She hadn't caught much of the rest of the conversation. She had the address, and she had access to a car and a driver. She shudders to think how much longer it would have taken to track her down if Castle hadn't insisted on adding her name to the Mercedes a few months ago. They're so entangled, so much a part of each other's lives now, in small things like car titles and in big things like being one another's happiness and home.

It becomes excruciatingly difficult to breathe as the boys approach, Javi's badge already hanging from the chain around his neck and Kevin's notepad and cell phone at the ready. They know exactly what she needs. Not a shoulder to cry on, just answers. Justice. She has never been more thankful for them. When Lanie emerges from the backseat of Ryan's rental car, holding a folded pair of work trousers, flat shoes, and a plain top that miraculously has no memories (or hope of making new ones) clinging to it, Kate really does almost lose it. Her friend had access to a bag full of brand-new honeymoon clothes and wisely managed to find something else.

Kate takes the clothes from Lanie, holding her breath just in case they smell too strongly of the loft, and then she starts to fill the boys in, relaying the knowledge she's gleaned so far. They fan out, working the crime scene like the pros they are. Because it_ is_ a crime scene, she's sure of it. No way is this an accident. If she's learned anything over the course of her life, nothing ever is.

Once the boys are out of earshot, Kate turns to Lanie. "Thanks for bringing these. For not letting me go all Miss Havisham on you."

There's a bit of an awkward silence and it hurts, actually aches, because Castle would have caught the reference, would have smiled at the thought of the formidable Kate Beckett retreating to a decaying mansion and wearing her wedding dress for the rest of her life.

"Anything, Kate. Is there a - " Lanie catches herself just in time. "Uh, anything for me to have a look at?"

"They haven't said. I think it's too hard to tell while the fire's still burning." The sharp hiss of water meeting fire draws their attention back to the wreck, where two firemen are beginning to douse the flames. Lanie starts walking towards them but Kate grabs her wrist.

"I can't - I can't look. Not while I'm wearing this."

Lanie's eyes are so soft, too soft, before she gets the pity under control and guides Kate back to the fire truck. There's a second row of seats in the large cab, and it takes Kate a few tries to clamber gracelessly up the high steps. Lanie tucks the cupcake layers of the wedding dress in after her friend and then she climbs in as well, starting in on the forty tiny pearl buttons lining Kate's spine. As Lanie's fingers inadvertently brush against her skin, Kate shivers. _They're supposed to be his fingers._

It's there, in the fire engine, with the smoke of her wedding day rising from the rubble in front of her, alone with one of the two people in the world she can cry in front of, that she lets the first tears come.

"I'm so stupid," she whispers, eyes full of the sadness she shouldn't have fought, ribs folding in on themselves with tense, silent wracking inhales. "I'm stupid, Lanie. I thought I could do this. I thought I could shut it down, get the job done, but I can't think. I can't even think."

Kate sniffles, locking her gaze onto something mundane, the door handle, the headrest, anything but the view out the window.

"I thought I could compartmentalize, but I don't want to, Lanie, I don't want to be like I was before I met him. He'll be so upset with me for even trying."

"Castle loves all of you, and even though he needs you to be strong right now, he wants you to _feel_ too." Lanie's shushing, soothing, but at least she has the sense to refer to Castle in the present tense.

Kate takes a dozen steadying breaths and presses her fingers hard against her eyes. Strength. Did Lanie mean strength to deal with Castle's death, or to figure out where the hell he is? Either way, Lanie's right. She needs her steel now more than ever.

So Beckett rolls her shoulders back and pushes her chin up, fortifying her body and mind, preparing to channel the ache into action. This time she won't wait years to cry, years to feel. She'll just wait until they're done with the crime scene, wait until she's done as much as she can as a cop, and then she'll let herself act like a wife. An almost-wife.

"Okay. Let's get this dress off."

* * *

When Beckett emerges from the fire truck in her jeans and boots, she heads straight for the wreckage, stepping over the fragments of the metal barrier that Castle's car tore through. The fire is out, but the steel frame is still smoking. The Chief was right; there's no way to tell if there was any damage from another vehicle.

Beckett walks the perimeter of the car. The soil is packed tight, the ground dry and grassy, and the few footprints she sees have the deep tread patterns of firefighters' boots. Castle's smooth-soled dress shoes wouldn't have left a mark.

Ryan is on his phone a few yards away, and she hears the words "traffic cams" and "witnesses" drift over the singed air.

Her fists tighten. She takes a step towards the driver's side door.

Then another.

Just one more -

"Detective Beckett!"

The voice of Victoria Gates slices right through the smoke. Shit. Of course. The Captain is smart, she'd have figured it out. She'd been in the back row of the wedding audience and would have had the perfect view for watching the bride flee from the house, Ryan and Esposito hot on her trail. She probably even had Beckett's phone tracked to find them here.

Gates has tried to stop Beckett from working personal investigations before. Maybe the Captain thinks she's seen how much of a fight her best detective can put up, but it's nothing compared to what Beckett's about to unleash. She _will_ work Castle's case, end of discussion. She won't be sidelined while someone else decides that it's an average (albeit tragic) accident, not when Castle desperately needs her to find him.

Because they haven't survived fire and ice and all the other bullshit fate has dealt them for him to fall asleep at the wheel and end up in a ditch.

Kate widens her stance and places her hands on her hips, trying to look like it's just another day on the job, like it's any other crime scene.

"Sir, you didn't have to come; I've got everything under control."

Gates takes her glasses off, folds them slowly, and puts them in her breast pocket. "No, Detective, I don't think you do."

"Ryan and Esposito are working the scene. If there's a body, Dr. Parish is on hand to do a preliminary investigation. CSU will be here in half an hour." _If I can convince Hodgkins to call them, _Beckett adds silently.

"Beckett, I've just spoken with the Battalion Chief. I told him that any personnel on the way should be recalled - "

"Sir, you can't do that. I know he thinks that this is just an accident, but if there's any chance - any chance at all - that it isn't, we need to treat this like a crime scene."

"Detective, if you'd let me finish my sentence, you would hear me tell you that I've called off _their_ team because _ours_ is on the way. Four on-call technicians are coming in via helicopter from 1PP. Ryan and Esposito have obviously already started canvassing, so I'll leave them to it. I'll let you work this case, Beckett, at least until we have some answers, but I want Esposito taking lead. Does that work for you?"

_Oh._

"Uh, yes Sir, that works for me."

"In the meantime, I'll stay here. If there are any strings I can pull, any calls I can make, I will make them, Kate."

Gates has never called her by her first name before. As if the day wasn't overwhelming enough, here is Iron Gates acting like a friend and coming to her rescue. Beckett gets the feeling it's not just for her, has long suspected Castle had made himself a little soft spot somewhere in this woman's heart. Lord knows he's turned Kate's into a simpering puddle of mush.

"Thank you, Sir. I really appreciate it."

Gates nods and heads back to her town car, struggling a little with the hill until she reaches the road, heels clicking on the pavement.

It's time. Kate turns around.

The driver's side door, or what's left of it, is too hot to touch, but she gets as close as she can and peers in. She's hoping to see the metal coils of the seat, maybe blackened scraps of leather, indicating that the car was empty at the time of the crash.

But that isn't what she sees.

Because there was undoubtedly someone in the car.

She's seen hundreds of bodies and has never once thrown up. But when she sees the unidentifiable dark form slumped over the center console, Kate Beckett's world turns upside-down right along with her stomach.


	3. Conclusions

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* * *

**Chapter Three**  
Conclusions  
(Castle)

* * *

Another rolling darkness, another moment of clarity. Castle surfaces this time to a murder board loaded with a few more bullet points.

_- She's not here_

_- I miss her_

_- It smells like cherries_

_- My chest aches_

_- There was a black SUV_

It's hazy, but it's starting to come back. He remembers seeing the vehicle behind him, remembers thinking it was a bit too close for comfort. When it had pulled up beside him a cold dread had set in. He could almost hear Kate's voice in his head telling him not to let his imagination run away with him, but he's written too many chase sequences and he's nothing if not prone to jumping to conclusions. He's freaked out on her before, on the handful of occasions when someone had tailgated her Crown Vic for a few too many blocks, but it had always turned out to be an impatient driver.

The SUV was different. Sinister.

He remembers the heavily tinted window rolling down. And then…

Oh, yeah. He'd tried to pull a fancy evasive maneuver.

If it's possible to feel sheepish whilst unconscious, Castle achieves it. He's a middle-aged novelist, what business did he have pulling a move that belongs in The Fast and Furious? Beckett is absolutely going to _kill_ him. There is a reason she never lets him drive. On a good day, he'll be calm and fairly normal (if that's even possible). But on a great day, he'll slink down in his seat and drape one wrist loosely over the wheel, and act like the badass that he (thinks he) is. Beckett complains that his jerky, impulsive accelerations and jolting stops that accompany that particular persona make her carsick.

So it's no surprise that things had gone terribly wrong when he'd clenched his jaw, braking hard until he was far enough behind the SUV to yank the wheel in a full circle. He laid on the handbrake, intending to pull a tight U-turn.

The aluminum barrier at the side of the road hadn't done a great job of slowing his descent into the ditch. There was a moment of no-gravity and then a flash of white, and suddenly the airbag was hanging limp in his lap, having inflated and deflated before he'd even registered that it had deployed.

Just like when he'd taken a bullet to the vest, it had taken several seconds for his poor old lungs to jump-start. The pain in his chest was a frozen ache and felt like swallowing an ice cube whole. Multiplied by about a thousand.

But he couldn't stop even for a moment to catch his breath, because the slam of a car door had drawn his gaze back up to the road. The black SUV had parked on the side of the road and a man in a black ski mask was coming down the hill.

He'd tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but his chest was killing him, and his mind was just totally, completely freaking out. He's usually so much better in these situations, can usually keep his head - but usually he's got backup, usually he's got _her_, and his mind had just been so damn fuzzy. He must have hit his head. _Shit, shit, shit. _ His fumbling fingers managed to release the seatbelt just as the man in black reached the door of Castle's car.

And…that's it. That's all he can remember.

Castle mentally pats himself on the back for the big leap he's made from the small list of facts he'd had before. The murder board is full of information now, a timeline, some photos, even a partial plate. The events leading up to the car crash are there, he just has to figure out where he is now.

He's expended too much energy this round. When his mind fades to black, he welcomes the rest.

* * *

The next time he comes to, there is no murder board. He's laying down, looking up at the shine of a shellacked woodgrain ceiling. It's dim, but there's light coming from somewhere, a soft blue glow that limns the curves of the room around him.

The pain in his chest is more present than it's ever been, the icy ache hidden under something that stings like a _bitch_. It's a venomous sort of pain that reminds him of the time he had to run across a bed of Black Cat firecrackers as a hazing ritual at Edgewick Academy. He'd hoped his good-natured jokes might exempt him from a week of titty-twisting and having his head flushed down the various toilets on campus, but he'd had no such luck. The pock-mark burns on his ankles had stung for a week, just like his chest stings now. So he must have been burned, too.

He blinks.

Oh - he can blink! That must mean that he's awake.

His brain switches on, pumping information through at ninety miles an hour, urging his body to move. He sits up.

He's on a bed. It's just wide enough to fit him, but his ankles hang off the end. He's on top of the covers, and judging by the breeze across his chest and stomach, he's topless. He squeaks. Has he been taken advantage of? Nope, black dress pants still on, belt too. Shoes, too actually. So why are his jacket and crisp white shirt missing?

The room is tiny, barely big enough for the bed. The light seems to be coming from two narrow windows, thin strips of glass just below the ceiling, one on either side of the room. There are drawers and doors all over the room, the light glinting off dozens of silver knobs. The bed is the only piece of furniture.

Castle stands, wincing as the movement sets his chest on fire. He takes two steps towards the largest door and fumbles for the light switch. The room glows warmly, lit by frosted glass sconces.

He turns in a tight circle, already feeling claustrophobic. He's not a small man, and his hair brushes the ceiling when he moves.

"Weird as far as prisons go, but could be worse," he says out loud. Great. Now he's talking to himself, too. Oh, who is he kidding, it's not an uncommon occurrence.

He rests his hand on the largest doorknob, guessing that it must be the door leading out of the room, but then he pauses. What if there's an armed guard on the other side? He hasn't fully explored his little room yet, hasn't collected every piece of information that he can. He's got nothing to go on if he needs to talk his way out of getting shot. No, first he needs to find out who this bedroom belongs to.

So he opens a different door instead, one with a tiny silver knob. It's a closet full of clothes. He'll investigate those in a second. For now, he's preoccupied with the sight in the full-length mirror that's screwed into the back of the door.

His chest is an angry red and purple abstract painting. It looks kind of…shiny. Castle gingerly draws a finger through the shine, setting off a blazing trail of pain. It's definitely a burn, but a weird one. Like a really intense carpet burn. And the shiny stuff must be some sort of salve. If he wasn't so bruised he might flex his pecs to see what he'd look like all oiled up like a body-builder.

The bruising is worse on his left shoulder, but most of the burns seem to flower from the center of his chest. He's seen the patten before, in some of his research, so he knows it's from an airbag. The question is, why did he pass out long enough to be hauled to an entirely different location? He runs his fingers through his hair to see if his head hit the dash, and sure enough, there's a pretty sizable lump at his temple, but not big enough to explain the time lapse. There's a tiny pinprick of blood on his neck, and when he presses against it, it's a little sore. He probably would have noticed it before if there wasn't so much pain from other areas. Come to think of it, the fuzzy head and the sharp little wound are familiar.

He mentally tallies the number of times he's been tranquilized since meeting Kate Beckett - the total is up to three.

The rest of him seems to be okay, so he turns his attention to the clothes in the closet. It's a collection of fairly boring men's dress pants and collared shirts, for someone a bit shorter than him. Not designer, and quite a lot of black. He opens another door and finds cargo shorts and pants, an expensive looking utility belt, and a dozen black t-shirts. Not a single logo anywhere to hint at what this man's hobbies or haunts are.

Castle finishes combing through the drawers and cabinets, but there's nothing but clothes. He finds his jacket and shirt hanging in one and puts them on, figuring if Bond can kick ass in a suit, he can too.

The interior explored, he turns his attention to the exterior. He doesn't even have to stand on tiptoe to look out the sliver of window, and when he does, he sees something he doesn't expect.

Miles and miles of water, textured in the moonlight, unbroken by boat or land.

Of course. He's on a boat. He wonders how he didn't realize it before. Now he can feel the gentle rocking, can hear the water lapping softly just on the other side of the wall. Damn, he really needs to do better sleuthing if he wants to get back to Kate.

Kate.

Oh, no. He was on his way to her, on his way to their wedding, and he never showed. Does she think he stood her up? He used to joke about fearing marriage, but he's made it clear that he has absolutely no qualms about joining his life to hers. She's too smart to think he would have run, right? Nothing in the world could make him give her up.

His head spins, and he has to sit down again. The thought of Kate waiting for him is unbearable, so much worse than his bruises, burns and aches.

Right. _Time to get your shit together, Richard Castle. You need to get off this boat and get back to your bride._

He tries the door, bracing for an altercation with whoever might be on the other side.

The knob doesn't budge. He's locked in.


	4. Rings

**.**

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**Rings  
(Beckett)

* * *

_Previously_

_It's time. Kate turns around._

_The driver's side door, or what's left of it, is too hot to touch, but she gets as close as she can and peers in. She's hoping to see the metal coils of the seat, maybe blackened scraps of leather, indicating that the car was empty at the time of the crash. _

_But that isn't what she sees._

_Because there was undoubtedly someone in the car. _

_She's seen hundreds of bodies and has never once thrown up. But when she sees the unidentifiable dark form slumped over the center console, Kate Beckett's world turns upside-down right along with her stomach._

* * *

A metallic sting invades Kate's mouth as her teeth dig into her bottom lip. Her fingers press tightly into the edge of the leather seat in the back of the vintage Rolls Royce as it pulls up to Castle's house in The Hamptons. She'd asked their chauffeur to stay for the afternoon to drive her to see Martha and Alexis. Even if she'd had access to a vehicle, she doesn't trust herself behind the wheel today.

She likes the driver. His eyes had been soft and sympathetic as he waved away her offer to quadruple his rate, and he hasn't said a single word on the way over. Kate is grateful for his quintessentially English reticence. But the way the man's eyes turn down at the corners reminds her of Rick, so she avoids looking in the rearview mirror.

She'd spent the last hour doing nothing but pacing the ground in concentric circles around the car, stopping every now and then to squat over a patch of disturbed earth, squinting for clues in the sweltering sunlight, waiting for CSU to give her some information.

She needs to go back, because there's more work to be done, but she has to give Martha and Alexis an update. They deserve to hear about the body in person, even though she's afraid that seeing two sets of watery blue eyes will demolish the shaky grip she has on her self-control.

At least when her mother died, she'd been with her dad. Today she'd had to handle seeing the burning car alone. So right now, she wants to be with people who felt as strongly about Rick as she does. Javi and Kevin adore Castle, but he's still a work buddy. They don't see Rick at his best, when he's flipping pancakes in just boxers and a T-shirt, deliciously tousled hair falling over his forehead. They haven't seen him whizzing around setting up the mix-your-own popcorn bar and ice cream sundae station for their monthly movie marathons. She needs to be with people who love him. People she loves.

Kate reaches for her key, then realizes it's still inside the house, in the room where she'd slid into the silk and lace of her wedding dress just a few hours earlier. She raises her hand to knock, but thinks better of it and tries the handle. The door opens wide, revealing the empty foyer.

The house is cool, the air too easy to breathe. It feels too comfortable; it doesn't fit with the heavy ache in Beckett's chest. She braces herself, expecting a house full of wedding decorations. A table piled high with gifts just inside the door, the sideboard scattered with catering equipment. Flower arrangements everywhere. But there's not a trace of any of it. She's not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Tracy, the inhumanly efficient wedding coordinator they'd hired to manage the day's activities, had more than earned her fee. This wedding has been one disaster after another.

Kate wanders through the foyer. It aches, being in Castle's house without him. She calls out for Martha and Alexis, needing some evidence of life in this ringing silence.

No one responds. A thin bolt of panic runs through her. If the car accident _wasn't_ an accident, as she suspects, is there a chance that Castle's mother and daughter are in danger as well? Instantly on alert, Kate stalks slowly towards the kitchen, heart pounding wildly.

She rounds the corner and the tension falls from her shoulders when she sees Martha sitting on a barstool, back turned towards the hall, elbows propped on the counter and head bowed. _Please don't be crying, please don't be crying._

"Martha?"

Martha rises, a slow portrayal of her usual grace, and turns to Kate, eyes steely and dry, and Kate meets her strength with a tight, almost suffocating hug. It's Martha who pulls away, leaving Kate clinging to the warmth in the air and the floral cloud of perfume.

"Let me make you a cup of tea," Martha says. "Chamomile? I've had seven, but I don't think it's working."

Kate nods, even though she knows Martha's go-to remedy for anxiety is going to be painfully inadequate against the horror of today. Still, watching the older woman move around the kitchen as she fills the kettle and drops a teabag into a cup does take the edge off of Kate's earlier alarm.

When the tea is ready, Martha sets the cup down with a shaking clatter and the two women sink onto the barstools. Martha's hand slides across the granite to cover Kate's, and they clutch at one another blindly.

"Tell me what else you've found."

"We don't know much yet, but…Martha…it looks bad. The car was a complete wreck, it caught on fire, and…" Kate's eyes redden and glass over with barely contained tears.

"Oh, darling, just spit it out. Whatever it is, there's not going to be an easy way to say it."

Kate takes a deep breath. "There was a body in the car."

Martha closes her eyes, grip tightening until the bones in Kate's hand start to grind together.

"It might not be him. There's something off about the whole thing, but I can't put my finger on it. I need to get back. Gates has been amazing, she's got our CSU guys working the scene, but I need to be there."

Martha's eyes snap open, fiercely blue, and a little wild.

"Do what you need to do to find him."

Kate had been worried that Martha would accept the facts and draw the most obvious conclusion, just as the local firemen had. If she'd looked into Martha's eyes and seen defeat there, seen that Castle's own flesh and blood believed him to be gone, she most definitely would have broken.

Kate squeezes Martha's arm. "Will you and Alexis be okay here tonight? After CSU is finished with the scene, I want to go back to the precinct, make some calls, put in some requests."

"We'll manage," Martha assures her, but her voice is thin and watery. "If anyone can figure out what's going on here, it's you. I trust you to fight for him, Kate. But will you be alright at the loft alone? Do you want us to come with you?"

"Um, I might not stay there, Martha." She almost adds, "_I'm not sure I can sleep in our bed alone tonight_," but Martha's face softens knowingly.

"Oh, of course, darling. I wasn't thinking." Not for the first time, Kate is flooded with gratitude for this woman, who just seems to understand her so well sometimes. Maybe it's part of why Kate and Castle work so well.

"Let me go find Alexis," Martha says, releasing Kate's hand with a weak smile.

As Martha retreats down the hallway towards the staircase, Kate notices an unfamiliar curve at the top of the older woman's spine, a slump that makes her look a decade older. Another piece of her heart cracks and breaks off to see Castle's vibrant, bold mother just a shade of her usual self.

Kate wanders into the formal living room. The French doors leading to the lawn are shut, and the expanse of grass is green and unbroken. All of the chairs that had been lined up in neat rows for the ceremony are gone, the house wiped clean as if the wedding they were only minutes from having this morning was merely a figment of her imagination.

The soft pad of feet on hardwood alert her to a new presence in the room, and she turns from the window to find Alexis staring at her, eyes puffy and nose red.

Kate whispers her name and takes a few steps towards her, about to pull her into a hug, but Alexis flinches.

"I caught the end of your conversation, you know."

Alexis glares at her, the air thickening with standoff. It catches Kate completely off guard - she'd expected Alexis to be upset, but this - this is anger. And it's directed at her.

"Wh - What?"

"I heard you tell Gram that you don't want to stay in the loft tonight. I assume that means you're going back to the city. Are you seriously going to leave us here?"

Being called on the carpet by Little Castle is almost as bad as the few times she was confronted by Castle himself. She doesn't handle these situations well, and just like before, she freezes, unable to adequately express the things she's feeling.

So instead she just says "Yes."

Alexis explodes with a dramatic intensity that does justice to the acting blood in her veins.

"What have the last two years been to you? The last _six_? You looked happy, you looked like you were in love, but you can just turn it off like a switch, can't you?"

Kate's emotions are coming up in the same way that the contents of her stomach did this afternoon. If Alexis doesn't stop, it's not going to be pretty.

She's not stopping, though. "I can't believe you're not even planning to be with us tonight. That's what families are for, Detective Beckett. Have you even cried?" Alexis's voice drips with scorn, and it sends Kate over the edge.

"Yes, Alexis, of course I've cried, and thrown up, and my world is coming apart at the seams just like yours." It's not quite a yell, but it's loud, and rasping, and full of the pain Alexis is accusing her of not being able to feel. "I'm staying at the precinct tonight. If I stayed at the loft, I'd fall apart, so you can save the guilt trip."

Well. That wasn't a very adult thing to say. Kate loves Alexis, but there are some eggshells they've failed to sweep up, and it's really about time she did something about it.

"I know you don't completely understand your father and I, but you've only seen his side of the story for a long time, and as an observer, not from his point of view. You have to know that your dad is my _everything_, Alexis."

Kate takes a ragged breath and bites into her lip to keep from saying how frustrated she is - has always been - that Alexis can't seem to see that. It's Kate's own fault, really; in front of Castle's daughter they're always so casual, so glib and carefree, never letting her see just how deep their love for one another runs. She promises herself that as soon as Castle is by her side, they need to sit his daughter down and tell her the whole story, or that careful guardedness will be there forever, hovering over every family holiday.

There's a shocked silence as the two women take each other in. Kate's eyes are welling with tears, and Alexis's cheeks are flushed with embarrassment at being put in her place.

Kate folds first. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Why are you apologizing?" Alexis whispers. "I'm the one who's being horrible."

"It's just because we're tired, and scared. Look. Let's go to the kitchen and get you a cup of tea. I need you to tell me what your dad was wearing this morning, if you can."

Alexis follows Kate down the hallway and into the kitchen. "Why does it matter what he was wearing?"

"Because I don't think it was him in the car, and the smallest details might be able to prove it. For example, we didn't find my wedding ring," Kate explains.

"Um, that's because I still have it. Being the Best Man and Ring Bearer and all," Alexis mutters.

Kate doesn't look at Alexis, but she has to ask.

"Can I - can I have it, please?"

"It's yours, Kate, of course you can have it." Alexis circles the bar and starts digging through the bags on the counter, searching for the small velvet box her father had pressed into her palm this morning.

While she's waiting, Kate slips the matching band off her thumb. The one that should be on Castle's ring finger right now, not sliding around on her slender one. She'd planned to give it to Lanie just before the ceremony so her maid of honor could perform her duty of handing it over at the correct moment, but she hadn't gotten around to it.

Kate takes the jewelry box from Alexis's outstretched hand. When she opens it to nestle Castle's ring in beside hers, the room fades away. There are letters engraved on the inside of her ring. She'd seen it, once, when they'd shopped for the bands, but Castle had secreted it away shortly after.

There's just one word carved into the metal, in his slanted capital handwriting.

_ALWAYS._

Her vision blurs and a teardrop lands on her wrist.

Because she'd kept his ring hidden as well, for the same reason. Only the words she'd chosen for him to wear next to his skin are different.

_I JUST WANT YOU_.

"Kate? Is something wrong?"

Kate swipes at her cheek. "Sorry, no, nothing's wrong. I just saw the inscription."

"What inscription?"

Kate turns the box towards her stepdaughter, watching as she takes it back into her own hands and reads the rings. Even though Alexis looks a little bit heartbroken, it goes a long way towards Kate's new goal of showing Castle's daughter just how deeply she loves him.

Alexis snaps the box closed and envelops Kate in a spontaneous hug. She's gone just as quickly as she came, the rings back in Kate's hand.

"So what else do you need to know?" Alexis asks. "Dad was wearing his tux, his black shoes, and his lucky Chewbacca socks."

"What about his watch?" CSU hadn't found one on the victim's wrist, and Kate knows that Castle would have been anxious to get back to her, knows he would have been keeping an eye on the time. Then again, he's developed a habit of checking his iPhone for the time, so maybe he left the watch off today.

"Yeah, he was wearing his watch. He was getting sort of annoying about checking it."

Hope soars in Kate's chest, and she can't help but share the feeling.

"We didn't find the watch at the scene."

"That's good, right? That's great!" Alexis's eyes light up and she smiles for the first time tonight.

"Well, there might be some other explanation, but my gut is telling me that your dad wasn't in that car, and I'm going to do everything in my power to find out where he is."

* * *

It's nearly midnight by the time the remains of the car are at the police impound lot, the remains of the body are in the morgue for analysis, and the remains of Kate Beckett's heart are slumped against the wall in the precinct's gym locker room.

She'd made it through the afternoon, hadn't broken down again at the scene, and although she hadn't been functioning at full capacity, she was still more probing and creative than most detectives. But she'd reached her limit, and now she's sitting alone, staring blankly up at her wedding dress where it hangs from a towel hook. The lace is wilting in the soapy humidity.

This has got to be some cruel joke. Is her life meant to be just one long quest for answers to one tragedy after another? She's always thought her job was important, was always proud that she could bring families closure. The taste of her own justice, for her mother, is recent and sweet, but now she wonders how much of that flavor was because Castle was there to share the victory with her. Answering the question of who ended her mother's life took years of work and personal evolution, and it gave her a beautiful relationship with an incredible man, so the satisfaction she felt when she cuffed Bracken was about more than just serving justice.

But with Castle missing, she can feel the green, bitter clench of doubt jading her. What good are answers, really? They didn't bring her mother back. They might not bring Castle back.

And if she does find the answer to Castle's disappearance and it doesn't end with him healthy and by her side…it strikes a cold dread in her to think that there might not be anyone next to her to share the victory with.

_What is the point? _For hours, she's paralyzed by that thought. It turns over and over in her head like a tumbling rock.

Suddenly, the pipes in the wall behind her give an ungodly moan. It startles Kate into taking a deep breath, and when the burst of oxygen hits her bloodstream, she remembers what the point is. She firmly reminds herself that Castle's fate isn't sealed. It's not like her mother's case, which began with a cold body and a table in the morgue. She needs to get to work.

So she goes over the facts, combing and collating and letting her mind branch out, adding things to her leads list to check into. But the fact remains: there was nothing at the crime scene that indicated the crash had been anything other than an accident. The grey-black tire marks on the road were a perfect, uninterrupted arc. The footprints definitely belonged to the firefighters. The airbag deployed, but it's more likely to have been from the impact at the bottom of the ditch as opposed to a collision, and the road was so far outside of any town that it didn't even have streetlights, much less traffic cams. Ryan ordered two digital LED boards from the local highway patrol and set them up on the side of the road, flashing with a request for potential witnesses, asking anyone who was driving along that stretch of road at the time if they saw anything suspicious and to call it in if they had.

She feels a shift in her deepest equilibrium the moment she starts to fall down the rabbit hole again. It takes less time than ever before to build an exact, miniature replica of the crime scene in her mind, and she's already mired in the details, obsessed with the pieces that are missing, hoping that something won't add up. But even her considerable detective skills are blunted by the powers of fire and grief. For someone who's never really bought into the idea of having a pre-destined 'other half', she's surprised by how crippled she already feels, and they've only been apart for twelve hours.

Facts. Focus on the facts. There wasn't even a scrap of charred paper, so the marriage license either made it out of the car or was burned to ash. There were cufflinks, melted little scraps of metal. Did he wear his favorite platinum ones, which wouldn't have melted, or something stupid like his cheap novelty Handcuff ones?

And there was definitely no watch. She's clinging to that. There's a chance. A chance that the body isn't his. It's the only thing keeping her going.

Kate's fingers drift, stroking the black velvet of the ring box where it's sitting on the floor beside her, and her other hand finds her mother's ring. It's hanging from a new chain around her neck, a longer one so that she could wear it under her wedding dress, kept low enough to be tucked out of sight. She hasn't worn it in quite a while, but she'd wanted her mother to be with her on her wedding day.

Kate briefly considers adding the two wedding bands to the chain. It feels wrong, somehow, like she's giving up on Castle, relegating him to a memory. Instead she slips her smaller band on the fourth finger of her right hand, and slides his onto her thumb.

She may not know where he is, but in this small way she'll keep him close, their wedding bands circling the veins that lead to her heart.

There's a light knock at the door. Lanie enters, holding a bar of chocolate and a bottle of water. Kate doesn't move, doesn't even tear her eyes off of the white of her dress. Lanie sinks down next to her and presses the water bottle into Kate's limp hand.

"Kate, honey, have some water, at least."

Kate tries to unscrew the lid and finds that she simply can't. Lanie takes it from her and opens it, watching to make sure she takes an obedient sip.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, Lanie," she whispers. "Does Javi have the board set up?"

"Yeah, he does. But Kate, you need to get some rest. You can't stay here all night. I'm about to head home, can I give you a ride?"

"I can't go to the loft, Lanie. I'll just sleep in the break room." If Gates doesn't like it, tough.

"What about your apartment?"

Kate shakes her head. That's dangerous too. She'll feel his absence just as keenly there.

"Then come to mine."

"No thanks, Lanie. Honestly, I'll be fine here. I've got a pillow and a blanket in my locker, I've done it before."

"Yeah, but not in about six years, Kate."

"I want to be here when the DNA results come in."

"You know that won't be until the afternoon, at the earliest."

"Lanie, you know how quickly trails like this can go cold. I have work to do."

Kate clenches her jaw and refocuses on the wedding dress. The air is thick. What is it about tragedy that makes you behave abominably towards the people you love the most?

"Alright, Kate, I'll leave you alone tonight. But tomorrow you're sleeping in a bed. No arguments."

The door closes softly behind Lanie. Kate pulls out the pad of paper that contains her scribbled notes and a growing list of possible actions the team can take to hunt down a lead. As soon as the sun comes up, she'll start making calls. Something has to pop.

She's spinning Castle's wedding band on her thumb when her phone rings. She fishes it out of her pocket and answers on autopilot, assuming it's Ryan or Esposito with a lead.

"Beckett," she snaps.

There's a long silence.

She sits up, suddenly ramrod straight.

"Who is this?" she demands.

She's completely unprepared for what she hears on the other end of the line.


	5. Confrontation

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading. I'm having great fun with this story and feel privileged to be writing alongside the other fabulous Ficathon writers. Immense thanks to Diana and Trish, whose edits and suggestions have strengthened and polished this story, and all of the wonderful people who are reading, reviewing, and following! Constructive criticism is always welcome - I write to entertain you guys and to become a better writer, so send me your thoughts!_

_Without further ado, back to the boat.._.

* * *

**Chapter Five**  
Confrontation  
(Castle)

* * *

Castle's bad knee is starting to ache. He's been kneeling on the floor for the last half hour, trying to pick the lock with some straight pins he found in one of his captor's unworn dress shirts. They're too short and they just keep bending. Castle eyes the offending doorknob. It's nothing special.

"Oh, screw it." He grabs the knob and gives it a mighty wrench. He's certainly not a weak man, and has never had trouble keeping his muscles toned. Early on in their relationship, it didn't take long to notice that Kate was constantly stroking his forearms or pressing her lips against his shoulders while they were doing ordinary things like watching movies or reading the paper in bed. He'd taken to doing a set of surreptitious bicep curls every day, and he's glad for it now. The doorknob comes off in one twist, the screws easily pulled out of the soft wood. After that, it only takes a bit of fishing to pull the bolt out of the strike plate.

He swings the door open and finds himself in a small galley with two leather benches built into the walls and a table in the middle. There's no guard, but he'd expected that. He hadn't heard a peep, and the only times the boat rocked were when he moved from one side to the other, so he was fairly sure he was alone.

There's shelving above the benches, and they're empty except for a row of hardback books.

He groans. His name is on every spine. Great, so he's been kidnapped by a fan? He thumbs open the copies of Naked Heat and Storm Fall, just to see if he signed them, but the pages are devoid of his scrawl. The books have been read, but not obsessively. At least his captor's not his number _one_ fan, so chances of him being crazy are slightly lower.

There's a small kitchenette beyond the dining room, but he's more interested in confirming his location, so he tests the wooden door on the opposite side of the bedroom. A short flight of steps leads up to the deck. He pokes his head up first, then emerges into the fresh night air when he's sure it's clear. The moon shines on the water and the wind presses his shirt against his sore skin.

Castle hadn't been terribly interested in boats until Alexis asked if they could rent a small yacht one summer. It happened to be the same summer Martha took up with a lawyer with a sailing obsession, and the four of them had had so much fun that it became a Memorial Day tradition (sans poor old Alexander, who'd only lasted a few weeks anyway.)

He'd sailed the waters on the south side of the Hamptons enough times to recognize the coastline in front of him. He looks to the furthest Eastern tip of land, looking for the distinctive white and red strips of the lighthouse that would confirm his suspicion. He can't see the structure in the darkness, but he does catch a flash of white light. It comes again about ten seconds later, and given where he crashed the car, he thinks it's a pretty good guess that the shining light is coming from the Montauk Point Lighthouse.

What doesn't make any sense is why someone locked him on a boat and parked it miles offshore.

The drugs in his system catch up with him, a bout of dizziness forcing him to sit down. He'll just rest a moment, catch his breath, and then he'll work on getting back to Kate.

Castle hears the jet ski before he sees it, the low hum of the motor breaking through the soft silence of the night. He ducks down, watching over the lip of the boat as a white chop of water sprays out from behind the jet ski, giving away its location. It's heading straight for the boat at a roaring speed.

Castle mentally reviews the contents of the bedroom, thinking about what he could possibly use as a weapon. He kicks himself for not looking through the kitchen cabinets, but there's got to be a frying pan in there, right? He's about to crawl down the stairs for it when he sees how quickly the jet ski is approaching. He scoots backwards towards the railing on the opposite side and peeps over the edge. Mind made up, he swings a leg over the side, preparing to drop silently into the sea. The plan is to lurk there with just his nose above the water and listen to his captor curse (probably in French) at his own stupidity for letting his prisoner escape, and then when the guy takes off for the shore in hot pursuit, Castle can make the leisurely two-mile swim back to shore.

He can swim two miles, right? Dammit, he's never researched how far the average untrained person can swim. What if he gets a cramp?

Well, he's got one leg over the side of the boat and if the guy gets any closer he'll see him escaping, so there's no turning back now.

He's about to flip his other leg over when his dress pants snag on something. Something pointy, right next to his -

_"__Ow ow ow ow ow," _he whispers, wincing, sprawled half on and half off the boat, panicking because he's stuck and he's going to get caught, and his chest is pressed hard against the lacquered edge of the boat and he's in so much pain and the roar of the jet ski engine is getting louder and _shit shit shit_.

The jet ski slows as it approaches the boat, and then Castle hears the engine putter as the rider maneuvers around to the side that he's draped over. He doesn't move, hoping that if he pulls a possum and plays dead the man won't see him. It's not his most brilliant work. It's got to be a side effect of the drugs. Yep, he would never do something so stupid normally.

There's a click and then the piercing beam of a floodlight illuminates the side of the boat. Castle squeezes his eyes shut at the blinding glare.

"Rick, what exactly do you think you're doing?"

He knows that voice.

"Dad?! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Get back on the boat, son." Jackson Hunt's voice is laced with amusement. He switches off the floodlight that Castle can now see is attached to the front of the jet ski. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, but it's definitely his father.

"I, uh, can't really move. My pants snagged on something."

"Yeah, that'll be the hooks I store my fishing poles on. Hold on, let me help you."

Hunt expertly ties his jet ski to the side of the craft and hops up onto the deck. The two men wrestle clumsily for a moment, trying to figure out which way to pull Rick back onto the boat without causing any more damage.

When he stands up, there's a fishing hook buried in the flesh of his upper thigh, complete with a purple sparkly fishing lure hanging from it.

"Just pull that out, Rick, I've got a first aid kit inside."

"Pull it out?" Castle squeaks, then he remembers how stoic his father had been after taking a bullet. He takes a deep breath. "Right. Pull it out. Okay." He tenderly angles the hook and pulls, and it slips out easily. "Hoh. Hokay," he pants. "That wasn't so bad." Hunt hands him a towel to stop the small amount of bleeding, a bemused smile on his face.

The two men stare at one another in the moonlight.

"You didn't answer my question, _Dad_." Castle's tone is laced with bitterness. The anger over how they'd last parted hasn't dissipated. "What are you doing here? Or, better yet, maybe you can tell me what _I'm_ doing here. This another one of your ploys to use me? Get me to do your work for you? Well you can forget about it, because you did a good job of ripping apart what little trust there was between - wait a minute, did you say these were your fishing poles?"

"Yep."

"I don't understand," Castle says flatly. "This is_ your_ boat?"

"Right again."

Castle pulls up the image in his mind of the man in black coming towards his car. The build matches his father's, and all he could see were his eyes, but no - that can't be right.

"You have got to be kidding me. Was that you? In the SUV, was that you?"

"Yes, but it's not what you think."

"Like hell it's not what I think. What, you thought you'd just run me off the road on my wedding day for _fun_?"

"I didn't run you off the road, Rick - " Hunt tries to interject, but Castle is fuming.

"Even though I hate you for what you did in the library, I kind of hoped you'd be there, you know? I thought maybe you'd sneak into the ceremony to watch Beckett and I tie the knot. I thought about ways to let you know when it was, seeing as I didn't exactly have an address to send you an invitation, but I figured that you'd find out somehow, since you've kept an eye on us all along. And then when I woke up on this boat, I thought, oh wouldn't it be nice if my badass CIA father was here to save me from the clutches of evil? But now I find out that _you're _the one who kidnapped me. Fantastic. Oh, did I mention that it's my wedding day?"

"Pipe down. We need to take this inside, Rick." Hunt turns and disappears down the steps to the galley.

"Don't you walk away from me," Castle shouts, following him. "You ran me off the road!"

"Richard!" Hunt whirls on him in the close space of the kitchenette. "You did a pretty good job of running yourself off the road, if I recall. I was just going to roll down the window and ask you to pull over, but you had to go and act like you were some stunt car driver or something."

"So what, you decided to drug me?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, you're a little unpredictable, and I couldn't afford to make a big scene."

"Great. Amazing. My dad tranquilizes me and drags me out to sea when I'm about to marry the love of my life. I don't know why you're worried about making a big scene on the side of the road; when Beckett finds out you ruined our wedding there's going to be all sorts of hell to pay."

"Beckett can't find out, Rick."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sit down. Let me make you a drink. Whiskey?"

"Sure, why not," he snaps sarcastically, his voice carrying loudly over the water.

"Richard, sit down and be quiet!" Hunt bellows.

It shuts him up. His mother had been pretty lax on the discipline front, and when he fights with Beckett they tend to seethe and hold things in or just leave the room altogether, so being yelled at by someone is very new. In fact, it's never happened before, ever.

He slumps down onto the leather bench petulantly.

Hunt pours two tumblers of Jack Daniels and sets them on the table, then turns the lights out, presumably to keep their boat hidden from anyone on the shoreline.

Castle folds his arms across his chest but inhales sharply and grimaces as he grazes his burns. He glares at his father as his eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Oh, quit being a baby and just drink it."

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Drink. Trust me, you'll want to take the edge off of what I'm about to say."

Castle reluctantly pulls the glass towards himself and takes an experimental sip.

"When did you wake up?" Hunt asks.

"About an hour ago."

"Huh. You eat a lot of carbs?"

"Yes…" Castle's not sure what that has to do with anything.

Hunt chuckles.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that the tranquilizer I used should have only lasted an hour or two, tops. I'm pretty sure I did the math right, so that makes you a bit of a lightweight when it comes to being knocked out. Although I guess it worked out fine, otherwise you'd have been stuck on the side of my boat for a lot longer, waiting for me to come back."

"Thanks," Castle pouts, looking down at the gash on his leg.

Hunt reaches into a cupboard under his seat and pulls out a first aid kit, tossing it across the table. Castle unzips it and pulls out an alcohol wipe and a bandage and sets to work dressing his wound. It's not deep, but he sure is getting beat up today. He'd anticipated some scratches on his back from Beckett, maybe a fierce hickey or two. Not this.

"In all my years of working with the NYPD, this might take the cake for the most bodily harm I've come to. Oh, except for maybe that poisoning business when Beckett was working in D.C."

"Well, you wouldn't have a scratch on you if you hadn't freaked out about the SUV. What the hell was that move you tried to pull on the road?" his father asks.

"It almost worked."

"It didn't."

"Well, I don't know why. I'm pretty sure I did everything in the right order. I've seen Beckett do it before."

"Uh-huh." Hunt tries to smother his grin.

"Stop making fun of me!"

"What? It's funny."

Castle turns his head away and Hunt has the decency to quit teasing him. The truth is, he adores his son. Rick's a joyful kid (Hunt doesn't like to think about just how old Rick is, it only reminds him of how old he is) and he's brought more light to a life full of covert missions and loneliness than he'll ever know.

"Look, I'm sorry I scared you. I would tell you to quit being so paranoid, but you're actually completely right to be."

Castle downs his whiskey in a few swift gulps. It's nowhere near top shelf, so he doesn't feel guilty.

"Alright. Edge removed. Tell me what's going on."

"Right. You remember how I told you that I work outside the system? Most of the time, I run missions for the CIA. It's sort of like being an undercover cop; I earn the trust of our enemies, and exploit it. But seeing as I'm not officially on the org chart, I take on other work from time to time."

Castle just stares.

"Rick, there's no way to sugar coat this. I'm also a contract assassin. Used to be the best, too, but I think I'm going soft in my old age."

Castle stiffens. He's reeling, and he wishes he'd made it into the water, wishes he'd been able to put some distance between him and his father. The murderer.

"I can't believe this. It sounds like something out of one of my novels."

Hunt mistakes Castle's tone. "Yeah, well, don't go romanticizing my job or anything."

"Trust me, I'm not," Castle says coldly.

"Rick, even James Bond was a killer. How you look at it just depends on the motives. But you've been figuring that out, working with Beckett."

It's true. Castle's view of justice has evolved over the years, and while he might never be as morally incorruptible as his partner, he's always believed that there are very few good reasons for killing another human being. Watching his father put a bullet into a man's forehead had shaken him to the core. It would have been just as easy to arrest the mole, try him for treason, and let him serve his time.

"So how does all of that fit in with kidnapping me?"

"I wasn't supposed to kidnap you." Hunt stares at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I was supposed to kill you."


	6. Explanations

.

* * *

**Chapter Six**  
Explanations  
(Castle)

* * *

The shadows fall heavily over the furrowed lines of Castle's forehead as he stares at his father across the table in the boat's galley.

"What do you mean you were supposed to kill me?"

"I'm pretty sure that only has one meaning."

"But - but why? I don't understand."

Hunt pours more whiskey into their glasses. Castle wraps his hand around the tumbler, knuckles going white with the force of his grip, but doesn't make a move to drink it.

"I got the hit order on Tuesday," Hunt explains. "Couldn't believe it when I saw it. Didn't give me a lot of time to come up with a plan."

Castle's mouth goes slack. This can't be real. He knows real, after years of working with Beckett. Real is holding a man as he bleeds out on the floor of a diner. Real is having a gun pointed at your liver. Real is aiming a weapon to save a life, the most important life, in an abandoned warehouse after a scorching first kiss. This is just a story. It has to be.

Castle clears his throat. "And, uh, what's the plan? Or am I allowed to know?"

"I had to make it look like I succeeded, Rick. I put a body in your car - "

"A _body_?" It's the same nonchalant terms they use at the precinct, to keep the reality of death from hitting home. Castle's mouth hardens in disgust. "Whose body?" He and Beckett have devoted their lives to finding killers and bringing their victims' family members peace, and his own father breaks lives like it's an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is. He certainly took down the CIA mole in the library basement without blinking.

"Don't get all sanctimonious on me for this one, son. Got the body from a hospital morgue. Took a while for me to find one with your build that had been donated to science; I didn't think you'd appreciate an alternative. Anyway, I put the body in your car and set it on fire. The person who ordered this hit has to think you're out, Rick."

"Why, so you can keep on being the finest assassin money can buy?"

"My motives might look selfish, but I swear to you I'm just trying to keep you alive. And to stay alive, you can't go back home."

"Oh, so I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life on this boat? Are you going to bring me groceries on your jet ski?"

"No. You've got to disappear. Completely."

Castle laughs. Actually laughs, before he sees Hunt's stony expression. Oh. He's serious. Castle can be serious too. He leans forward, fixing his ice-blue stare on his father.

"Well, you can shove that idea up your ass because there's no way I'm leaving the city. I have a daughter and a mother. I'm supposed to have a _wife."_

"I'm aware of that. You don't have to hide forever. Just give me some time to work this out. But I'm serious, Richard, you have to keep your head down or they'll send someone else to kill you, and they'll probably send someone after me as well so I can't protect you. They don't know that you're my son, but seeing as this is the only hit I've let slip in my entire career, someone will eventually put two and two together."

"This is Bracken, isn't it?" Is this the ex-senator's final stand, orders that he gave to be carried out in the event of his incarceration? Castle's suddenly sure of it, down to his very marrow. The timing is too convenient.

Hunt seems completely unfazed by the name. So he knows about Bracken.

"You did a good job with that, son. I'm proud of you, and of Beckett. But no, it's not Bracken."

"Who else, then? Who else is gunning for Beckett?" Castle's heart freezes. Is Kate in danger? Hell, has she been targeted too? His pulse ticks up a notch. "Is she okay? Have they put a hit out on her too? If you've whisked me out of harm's way and left her out there to fend for herself, so help me - " Castle stands abruptly, glowering down at his father.

"Sit down, sit down, she's not in danger," Hunt says with a wave of dismissal.

"Then tell me what's going on. Who did she piss off this time? What did she do?"

"It's not what she's done, Rick. It's what you've done."

"But I haven't done anything!" he seethes, running his hand over his face in frustration.

"It's your book, Rick. Capitol Heat."

Castle freezes. No one knows the title of the next Nikki Heat, not even his muse. It's hidden halfway through his outline, and he's only written a few full chapters, including the explosive final scene, the one that involves the arrest of a prominent politician.

"How do you know about that?"

"They've been key-logging your computer. They've been keeping an eye on you ever since you started poking into the Bracken business, and you've upset some of their other business interests during some of your other unrelated cases."

Castle shakes his head in disbelief. "But…it's just a book." Sure, it's loosely based on the Bracken conspiracy, but it's fiction. He's changed all the details so it's unrecognizable.

"Did you really think people wouldn't make the connection? They saw Beckett give a statement after Bracken's arrest. They know you work with her and the NYPD. You should know by now how easy it would be for you to plant seeds of doubt in the constituency."

"It's fiction! My fans are reading for escapism, for fun."

"But it's _not_ fiction. And your readers have brains, and votes, and they're not naive enough to think that there's no corruption in politics, but your book - "

"Gives them the exact details," Castle finishes, understanding, finally.

"Exactly. Shows them where to look. It's only a matter of time before someone does, and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down. Easiest thing to do was eliminate the catalyst." Hunt spells it out. "You."

There's a sick fear in his gut that stings almost as sharply as when 3XK had him cornered in lockup. His cogs are turning, testing out possible scenarios.

"Can we - I mean, we could do something like - " Nope. He's got nothing. Nothing that makes sense, anyway.

"I don't think you're hearing me. _Everyone_ has to think that you're dead." Hunt levels his eyes on his son, pitying him, but this is crucial. "Without exception."

But Castle's stubborn. He won't give up Kate that easily. Won't give up his life that easily.

"Tell me who ordered the hit. We can take him on. Beckett and I can defend ourselves." He realizes, briefly, that this is the exact behavior that had made _him_ so upset when Kate had stared him down in her apartment and said _"Let them come."_

_"_Rick, this isn't Bracken. You've got no cards to play this time. No scrap of an account number, no information to use as blackmail."

Castle should be asking how his father knows so much about their case against Bracken, but he's clinging hopefully to another thought. "You got the hit order, you must have some information."

"Not enough. I don't even know for sure who it is, it's just a professional guess, a name that's been tossed around. If it's who I think it is, he'll have more resources at his disposal than Bracken, which means more danger for you. Think of how hard it was to keep Beckett alive, and Bracken's thugs were only really after her for a day before the blackmail deal was back on. That's what it will be like. Every second. Every day."

Castle is silent for whole minutes, processing, aching, his breath coming in shallow, panicked draws. His head, his heart, his body, they're all fighting this. He woke up this morning thinking he'd be finally bound to Kate Beckett in every way he possibly could be, and now he's facing the possibility of a life without her. No more days enjoying the strength of her mind, no nights delighting in the strength of her body. He'd known after sliding into her for the first time that he was addicted, and the thought of not being able to love her is as painful as a drug withdrawal.

"I can't leave her," he whispers.

"Son, I'll do everything in my power to make sure this is a temporary situation. I know a guy in WitSec who's drawing up an ID for you. He'll get you into the system under a pseudonym."

Castle's heart drops. It's the last place Beckett would think to look for him. Even if she had access to the witness protection database, she'd never find him, living as a pseudonym under a pseudonym.

"How long? he asks. "How long until you can fix this?"

"Hard to say. Two months, at least, but I'd prepare yourself for six."

His father has decades of experience in deception, and Castle trusts that his plan is solid. Normally, he'd want details, absorbing new intel and committing it to memory so he can write it into future novels, but he simply doesn't feel like it. Can't even bring himself to care through the haze of shock.

But no matter how well thought-out it is, Hunt's plan won't work. Because there's one thing he's not taking into account. And that is Kate Beckett's inability to _stop_. Castle knows her, every deep corner of her soul, and he knows that she won't let this rest. She could be stalking around the charred shell of his car even as they speak. It's only a matter of time before she finds him.

"Beckett will look for me."

"Not after the DNA results come back as a match to you."

"And how exactly is that going to happen, seeing as the body's not mine?"

"Easy. Hack the lab. It's already done."

"Kate won't believe it. There will be some piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit, some imperfect detail. No offense, I'm sure you're good, but she's better."

Hunt doesn't even blink. "As soon as I see you off, I can keep an eye on her. I'll speak with her if it looks like she's not letting go."

Every molecule in Castle's body is protesting. He doesn't want her to let go.

"Okay, assuming you can get through to her, which I doubt very seriously, she's not going to stop being an amazing cop. What happens when she starts stirring up trouble with 'their other businesses,' like you said?"

"If she attracts any more attention, I'll do the same for her as I'm doing for you. But so far, they think you're the catalyst. Her mother's case was what drove her to take down Bracken; they have no proof that she'd go after other politicians with criminal operations, as long as their bodies don't end up on her doorstep. But you, _you _have more power. Your words have the power to change more than you think."

"Hah."

Castle loves writing, loves letting his restlessness pour out with the flow of his words, and he's always been amazed at how something cohesive and orderly and sometimes beautiful can come out of a mind as scrambled and hyper as his own. But he's never kidded himself into thinking his books are works of substance, has never considered their power.

"Look," Hunt sighs, "we can talk more later. Right now, I need to go get your ID and put some stuff together for you to get on your way. You gonna do something stupid? Do I need to tranquilize you again?"

"No."

"Don't try to swim to shore; even I'd have trouble with that distance."

Castle gives a perfunctory nod, barely paying attention. He looks abysmal, bags under his eyes, a tight knot of tension gathering between his eyebrows, the weight of grief pressing heavily on him. Still, Hunt doesn't trust him not to run straight back to the city, to hole up in his loft as if it's a magical fortress defending him from his hunters.

There's one card Hunt hasn't played, one thing that might make his son go along with his plan wholeheartedly.

"If you don't do this, Rick, you're putting her in danger. I'm not just saying that to be manipulative, I'm saying it because it's true. You run, you both live. You stay, one or both of you are going to be in the ground before the day is out. I suggest you take the safer option this time."

Castle's eyes harden when they meet his father's.

"I get it. You don't have to spell it out for me. Go. You don't need to drug me, I'll stay here."

This time, Hunt believes him. He rises and heads for his jet ski, leaving a shell-shocked Richard Castle staring blankly at his whiskey glass in the semi-darkness.


	7. Apples

_._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**  
Apples  
(Castle)

* * *

Castle sits unmoving for a long time. His thoughts are churning, possibilities and plot lines detangling themselves in his mind. But no matter how he looks at it, he knows his father is right. He has to disappear if he wants to stay alive. He has to disappear if he wants to keep Beckett alive.

But the thought of letting Kate believe that he's gone, letting her mourn him, is too painful. She'll pull through eventually. She made it through her mother's murder and became the strongest person he knows because of it, but he doesn't want her to rebuild her walls, shut herself off and live the shadow of a life she'd been living when he met her. If those walls go up again, he's got no doubt that this time they'll be impenetrable. She'd spent the last two years showing him how grateful she was for the light he brought to her life from their very first case, a light that she photosynthesized as she bloomed into the whole, radiant person she is now. What will happen to her without an annoying, arrogant jackass to pull her out of her misery? Who could possibly love her as deeply and thoroughly as he loves her? Who would stick around long enough to break through her walls again?

But there's a far more frightening thought plaguing his overactive imagination. What if she doesn't build walls this time? What if she's gotten so used to living without them, gotten used to smiling and laughing and simply being happy that she accepts his death and moves on? What if six months pass, she stops visiting his grave, and the next Eric Vaughn swoops in, richer and more handsome than the last? She's a gorgeous, amazing, _stunning_ woman, and he's left her unattended at bars and restaurants enough times to know that she gets hit on _a lot_. So much, in fact, that he makes sure he goes to the restroom right before they go out so he doesn't have to come back from the Men's Room and chase away some handsome suit trying to slide a business card towards her. That's one unexpected perk that had come with his proposal; the diamond cut such encounters down by about fifty percent. And when "Look at the ring, buddy, I'm engaged" doesn't work, pulling out the badge and telling them to back off usually does.

No, she won't replace him. She's Beckett. And although he can barely believe his luck, he is the love of her life, as she had once confessed in a dark, tender moment not long after he proposed, her ear pressed against his chest as their heartbeats slowed in tandem. She won't give up on him. She will find some clue and cling to it like a lifeboat.

And that could be even more dangerous.

His father might be right about him having to disappear, but he's also very very wrong about one thing. There is no way Hunt can stop Beckett if she gets her mind set on finding her missing fiancé, DNA results or not. There is only one person that has ever had any chance of stopping her. And he's trapped on a boat.

The solution suddenly breaks free of the tumult in his mind, shining like a beacon. There is one thing he can do that will keep Kate from grieving, a way to promise her he'll be back so she doesn't take comfort in someone else's arms, and a way to keep her alive.

He'll just call her. Tell her he's okay, but that she has to be patient and not to poke around.

Two years ago he would have said "Hah." No way she'd stand down on his orders alone. But maybe she learned a lesson the day Maddox left her hanging from a rooftop. Maybe their history, forged and fleshed with love and friendship and the commitments they were planning to make today will make her trust him. Listen to him.

Castle stands, the burst of motivation releasing hot in his bloodstream. It's been at least twenty minutes since Hunt took off on his jet ski, and both the sea and the boat are silent. He has to get to shore. He considers swimming, wonders if Hunt was bluffing about the distance, but an experimental raise of his arms sends pain lancing across his chest. Swimming is definitely not an option. He needs to get the engine running, and for that he needs a key.

Castle tosses the boat. He pulls every last paper plate, can of chicken noodle soup, and box of macaroni out of the kitchen cabinets. He searches the pockets of Hunt's unworn pairs of pants. He looks in every nook and cranny and checks the most obvious places his father might have hidden an extra key, like under the cushion on the seat in front of the steering wheel.

Nothing.

He sinks defeatedly into the captain's chair, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a frustrated breath. Then his eyes narrow, focusing on the ignition block. He may not be a super spy, but he created one, and any spy novelist worth his salt knows how to hot-wire a car. Surely he can apply that knowledge to a boat.

Castle leans forward and sets to work.

* * *

In the end, it only takes him half an hour to get the boat started. The steering wheel is solid under his palms as he guides the ship to shore. He pulls into an empty slip at the shabbiest marina he passes, praying that there aren't any security guards on duty.

Castle navigates through the maze of gangplanks, eyes constantly scanning for security cameras. It's creepy, the way the hulking yachts gleam and shift like sleeping giants in the moonlight. He slinks past a little shack advertising bait and then stops abruptly, reversing. The windows are dark, but there's a phone number next to the crudely painted opening hours, so there must be a phone inside. He casts a few shifty glances around before wrenching the doorknob off. He is so totally James Bond tonight.

Bingo. There's an old ivory phone in the corner of a dusty, unkempt desk. He sits down and picks up the receiver, leaning back into the shadows. The backrest of the cheap office chair gives way and he almost ends up on his back on the floor. He grabs the edge of the desk and rights himself only to find that he's tangled up in the curled wire of the phone. He slaps at it ineffectually.

Okay so maybe not James Bond.

His fingers pause over the rotary dial. The age of smartphones means he doesn't know many phone numbers by heart, but he's memorized Kate's in case of emergency. He's never had to use it. Usually when he gets into sticky situations, she's right there with him.

While he waits for her to pick up, he wonders where she is. Is she at the precinct staring at a murder board, or in the morgue staring at the body Hunt had planted, tears gathering on her eyelashes? Or is she in their bed, wrapped tightly around his pillow, struggling to control her jagged breathing?

The call connects, and the sound of her voice snapping out "Beckett" makes his eyes sting. She sounds breathless, hopeful, shattered, and desperate all at once.

It knocks him off balance, and he lets the silence stretch on for too long.

"Who is this?" Her voice becomes hard, demanding, and he realizes she's been expecting a ransom call.

He takes a deep breath, and that's all it takes.

"Castle?" she whispers. She must love him even more than he thought if she can recognize an inhalation over a crackly phone line.

"Hi, Kate," he says gently.

"Holy shit." Her breath is coming faster, building up to a breakdown, the same way it did when they got to her apartment after she survived the floor bomb and the weight of the day finally hit home. "Castle, are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. A little beat up."

His heart is cracking in his chest. Hearing her voice, after thinking he'd have to go without it for months…it all bubbles up in him, spilling over.

"God, Kate, I love you so much," he grinds out, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Castle, you're scaring me. Where are you?"

"I can't tell you. But I'm okay."

"Why can't you tell me? Are you being held by someone?" She's about to start threatening, he can tell. A speech meant for the ears of his supposed kidnappers, about how she'll hunt them down and put bullets in their heads.

"Kate, Kate, calm down. I'm not in danger. Well, that's not entirely true, I am in danger, but I'm safe for the moment. Where are you?"

"Uh, I'm at Remy's, eating a slice of pie. Your favorite."

_What? _They don't even have pie at Remy's.

Oh. She's trying to get him to say 'apples'. They've talked about this, have rehearsed ways to let one another know that something is wrong over the phone. It's an unfortunate necessity in their line of work, and they'd had the conversation after they'd spent the night in the Bronx running from mobsters. That their safe words were the same inside and outside of the bedroom was neither here nor there.

"I'm not going to say the word you're trying to get me to say, Kate, because I am actually okay."

"Say what word?" Now she's trying to play it cool, in case his kidnappers managed to torture his safe word out of him. She'll go with their backup plan next.

"Castle, please just tell me you're fine."

If he says that he is, that's their code to mean that he isn't. It was his idea. For years she clenched her jaw and told him she was fine when she wasn't.

"Kate, seriously, we don't need to do this. I'm alone."

"If you're not in trouble, just say that you're fine."

"I'm not going to say it!"

"Because you aren't? Or - "

"Christ, Beckett, the only person I need to say 'apples' to is you so you'll stop trying to get me to say that I'm fine!"

He groans. He said both his safe words, and even though they're out of context, it will throw her into high alert.

"Honestly, I'm alone. But I shouldn't be talking to you, and I can't stay on the phone for long. Listen. Somebody's put a hit out on me. I need to disappear for a while. I'm so sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry. It's the only thing I can do. But it's just temporary, I'll be back in a few months."

"What the hell is going on? Who's after you? Tell me where you are and we can deal with this together. We've dealt with worse."

"I don't think we have. Please. Please listen to me this time."

"I can keep you safe. Come home," she sounds panicked now, like she thinks he's about to hang up.

"I love you, Kate."

"I love you too, Castle." Her strength breaks. "Why is this happening? We're supposed to be married," she whispers desolately.

"I know. I'm so sorry. Trust me, I'd much rather be on the dance floor, wearing my wedding ring, feeling you up. Or in the master bedroom after everyone's gone home, wearing nothing _but_ my wedding ring, feeling you up."

She laughs softly, and he can feel their fire kindle even over the miles.

"The DNA on the body is going to come back as a match to mine. But you can't keep investigating. You have to act like you believe I'm…gone. Okay? Can you do that, for me?"

There's silence at the other end of the line.

"Kate?"

"You know I can't promise that," she says somberly.

"I'm not being melodramatic here. Our lives really do depend on it."

He can hear her thinking.

"Fine."

"Fine…" he prompts.

"Fine, I won't keep investigating."

"Pinkie promise?"

"What are you, nine? Seriously, Castle?"

"As a heart attack."

"Ugh, okay, I pinkie promise."

"You know I can hear you rolling your eyes, right? But thank you. I'll fix this as soon as I can and come back to you. In the meantime…uh, this is going to sound stupid…will you wait for me?"

There's a small smile in her voice. "Worried someone will snatch me up the minute I'm out of your sight? I have a badge and a gun and I'm not afraid to use them." She softens. "Of course I'll wait for you, Castle. You're my…well, you know what you are to me."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."

There's a long silence, and he knows neither of them can bear to say goodbye. She's always been the stronger one, so she hangs up first, the click reverberating through his chest like a gunshot. He places the receiver back into the cradle, rocking back in the chair and using his fingers to smooth the tension out of his forehead.

When he finally pulls himself together, he creeps silently back to the boat, jumping at shadows because he's paranoid now, sick with fear that he's alerted his hunters to his location, and all he needs to do now is to stay hidden and alive. He boards the boat and fires up the engine, and heads back out to sea to await his father's return.


	8. Move

_._

* * *

**Chapter Eight**  
Move  
(Beckett)

* * *

Kate stares at her phone, watching as the screen and her connection to Castle go dark. Her whole body is awake, strumming with pure relief.

Her fiancé is alive. Castle is alive.

Even though there's a new tightness in her chest from their conversation, the deep dread that's been lurking there all day is already fading. The nightmare starts to dissipate, grief well on its way to being forgotten and buried deep.

She slides down the wall until her thighs rest on her heels and drops her head forward, trying to get her balance back. As soon as she'd heard Castle's voice she'd scrambled to her feet, pushing herself up from the floor of the locker room and dashing towards the door in wide-eyed panic before realizing her phone would lose signal in the cinderblock tower of the stairwell. The elevator wouldn't be any better. There was no way she could keep him on the phone and get to the equipment that might be able to trace his call.

But.

She remembers seeing numbers. She hadn't looked at her phone properly before answering, but she's pretty sure it wasn't a foreboding 'Blocked.' Pulling up the incoming calls list, she feels almost giddy when a number starting with the area code 631 comes up. She types the numbers into a search engine with thick and clumsy fingers.

The 631 area code is for Suffolk County.

Castle's still in New York. In fact, he's still in The Hamptons.

Squatting in the half-lit hallway, Beckett formulates her plan, working it out methodically before rushing into action. Now that she has a lead, every minute matters. She struggles to tamp down the emotions streaming hot through her veins, because if she doesn't work out all the steps in advance, she might do something stupid like forget to bring her gun.

When she's done strategizing, she prepares herself quickly and quietly in the shadows of the precinct. In the locker room, she dumps a few of her belongings into a nylon sack and slings it on her back. She leaves her Kevlar; despite their heated interchange over Castle's safe words, she does truly believe that he's alone. She does, however, raid the stock of bullets she has stashed in the locked bottom drawer of her desk.

She has no intention of breaking the ridiculous pinkie promise Castle had roped her into. She won't need to investigate his case, because she's going to find him.

Tonight.

* * *

On the drive to Castle's loft, Beckett calls the phone company tied to the Hamptons number and uses the muscle of her badge to get the address that the number was registered to: a marina on the eastern tip of the peninsula. Back when she joined the force, she would have had to wait for morning to get in touch with anyone, but in the era of twenty-four hour customer service, she only had to bypass two grumpy employees before talking to a night manager who had the right security clearance to look up the address. It was against protocol, on her part and the night manager's, but tonight, she'll do anything, convince anyone of anything if it means getting to Castle.

While she idles at red light, she looks up directions to the marina and jots them down in her notepad. Then she takes the SIM card out of her phone. The tech guys at the NYPD put measures in place to prevent anyone from being able to listen to her calls, but the phone can still be tracked by its GPS positioning. When the stoplight turns green, she tosses the small chip out the window. If he is being hunted, she's not about to make it easy for his predators by leading them straight to their prey.

She parks her Crown Vic in a loading zone outside of Castle's building. The meter hawks will be there at six am, but she'll happily pay the highest fine the city wants to give her if it means shaving ten minutes off of her journey tonight. She heads straight for the fluorescent entrance of the underground parking garage. She hops over the barrier, trying to avoid the security cameras. Castle's hunters aren't the only ones who will try to follow this trail; Ryan and Esposito will eventually try to track her down. It's fine if they think she fled to Castle's loft, but she's not particularly interested in chatting with the doorman. It's suspicious, bypassing the lobby, but with any luck, she'll be in and out before the doorman can call the security company, if he's even watching the video feeds closely enough to catch her.

Beckett calls the elevator down to the basement and waits in the shadows, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Trying to lead her boys to a dead end isn't the only reason she came to her fiancé's loft. She needs a faster car. She needs the Ferrari.

Kate rides the elevator up in silence and stalks down Castle's hallway, knowing exactly where to walk to avoid the lone security camera. She turns her key in his lock and slides inside, moving cat-like through the darkness. She darts into the bedroom, going straight for the car keys that he keeps in the safe in the closet. She grabs Castle's black 'stealth hoodie' while she's in there, haphazardly tossing it on over her clothes.

After she's collected what she needs, she risks one glance back at the place that's become her home. The seashells framed on one wall of the bedroom, the shadow of Boba in the far corner of the bathroom, the desk where she's watched him write their story in the small hours of the morning. She lets the space seep into her heart along with hundreds of tiny memories, thousands of smiles and secret breathy exhales of satisfaction. There's even a note of humming tension deep in the corners, from the handful of arguments that make their explosive happiness even sweeter.

Finally, she turns her back on the loft, because she can bring all of those memories with her. Castle is her home, and wherever he is is where she needs to be.

She guides the cherry-red Ferrari through clusters of cabs, accelerating viciously on the straights, garnering a mix of jealous stares and admiring nods from the New York nightlife. The city sparkles, the clack of high heels loud on the pavement, the carefree laughter of attractive people in gorgeous clothes clopping from one venue to another.

She's not worried about traffic cams. One of the things she'd picked up from the loft had been a permanent marker, and although her edits to Castle's license plates are a bit rudimentary, they'll fool the cameras and make her harder to trace.

As the engine hums powerfully around her, Beckett can't help but remember the first time she drove Castle's Ferrari. He was vibrating in the seat beside her, mouth agape at how perfectly her body was wrapped in the short, shining black bandage dress that made his eyebrow droop so adorably. She'd let her lips curve up, knowing the light would catch on the shimmering coat of her lipgloss, and let her lashes flutter on her cheeks as the engine molded to her whims. She may have snapped at him for leering at her, but she'd loved the way his hot stare had raked over her body.

It's two in the morning when she breaks out of the city limits. Hopefully Castle hasn't strayed far from where he called her from. She presses down ruthlessly on the accelerator, driving like a bat out of hell on the long flat stretch of road, closing the distance between them.

* * *

The marina is quiet in an unsettling way, and even though Beckett is hours outside the city limits, it feels as ominous and dangerous as the warehouse district in the small hours of the morning. Hundreds of boats bob in the water, silent sentinels that could be hiding any manner of sins.

There's a forbidding and freshly lacquered iron gate guarding the marina from the gravel road, and it looks like it's controlled by an electronic keypad to grant the slip owners entry. Beckett does a quick scan for surveillance equipment. There's a decoy camera perched on one of the gateposts; an older model that she used to run into a lot when she was on the beat. She used to get so frustrated when she got called to convenience store robberies or low-profile break-ins only to find that there was no video footage because the owner was too cheap to buy a working camera and had instead opted for a plastic lookalike. She can spot them from a distance now, by the obviously tinted glass and the suspicious absence of a power source or a too-well hidden wire.

Still, the gate is well-lit, and she doesn't want to attract attention by scaling it in the fluorescent glow. If Castle is in trouble, anyone could be watching. She heads into the shadows and follows the iron fence until it disappears into the long grassy dunes that keep the sea at bay. The same Scrooge that bought the decoy security camera didn't splash out for proper fencing all the way around the premises, and the barrier switches to barbed wire once it's out of sight of the public. Beckett grabs a thick cord of wire between two spiked barbs and widens the strands so she can slip through. There are a lot of benefits to being a graceful female cop, and being able to fit in small spaces is one of them.

She makes her way back towards the gatehouse. It must be where Castle called from; the phone number is registered to the Marina. Thankfully, it's privately owned, not hidden in a corporate phone tree maze. She sidles along the whitewashed wall of the small building, freezing when she hears the squeak of rusty springs. It's a good thing she didn't come over the front gate, because it sounds like there's someone inside.

Beckett holds her breath and flattens herself against the wooden planks. She wonders if her body might instinctually know if it's Castle, every muscle poised and searching for that inexplicable little tug just below her sternum that she can feel sometimes when he's nearby. A few years ago, she would have pinched herself for thinking such a ridiculously romantic thought, but there are definitely times when she turns towards the precinct elevator seconds before the doors open to reveal him. And sometimes, when he's out of town for a book signing, she'll wake up from a hard sleep less than a minute before he calls to say goodnight, and the schedules and time differences mean that his bedtime is anything but predictable. If anyone asked, she might write them off as coincidence, but it's those moments that secretly reaffirm to her the depth of their connection.

Suddenly, the gatehouse occupant coughs, a phlegmy, feeble cough, and Beckett slinks backwards into the shadows. It's definitely not Castle, and if she had to guess, it'd be the elderly uncle of the marina owner who's been saddled with the night security shift because he's too surly to be there during the day greeting customers. Even though the marina is shabby as far as the Hamptons go, the slip renters are still shelling out a decent sum, and it wouldn't do for grumpy Uncle Earl to deal with society's elite.

So if Castle didn't call from the gatehouse, where else could he have called from? Maybe the guard had made some rounds earlier and left the phone unattended. But that doesn't mean Castle's still in this marina. He could be miles away by now. She'd driven fast, but the trail could be cold.

All of the momentum, all of the purpose that drove Beckett over a hundred miles from the city evaporates, and her stomach sinks like a stone. She's had this feeling before, when a murderer leaves a few tantalizing clues that end up leading nowhere and the trail goes cold. Beckett's talented, but she's shelved her share of cold cases.

The cold wash of uncertainty doesn't last long. She won't give up on him, not after she's driven here in the dead of night.

She lets the wind toss her hair, listening through the rush of waves for a clue, anything, even tries reaching through the air to see which way her intuition tugs her.

There's nothing but salt-spray and the occasional rumbling cough and the snick of a car door being shut somewhere to her left, past the reedy embankment.

A car door. She whirls. There's a dark form picking his way slowly through the tall grasses, obviously trying not to attract attention. He's good - the reeds barely crackle as he steps on them, and he keeps his head down, but she's always had a keen sense of night vision and there's no hiding from her. She knows it's not Castle; the man is many things but subtle is not one of them, and he's much too tall and broad to be able to be easily concealed in some grass.

Beckett waits until the person breaks from the dunes and starts heading away from her. Perfect. She'll follow him until they're out of range of the gatehouse so she can take him down without anyone noticing.

The man navigates the docks expertly, until he heads down the one furthest from the guard. It's lined with smaller personal watercrafts, jet skis and canoes and the rowboats. It's not ideal; they provide far less cover than the yachts, but Kate follows the man, rolling her feet so as not to make a sound.

When he starts to shrug out of the backpack he's wearing, she makes her move, flying at him like a crazed squirrel.

It would have been an easy takedown if the guy wasn't so clearly trained. He rolls her over his back, aiming to slam her down, but she twists to the side and curls around him. They scrabble, feet scuffing the dock, both of them breathing quietly in the moonlight, neither wanting to attract attention. The light's on her side, so he can't see her face, but when she tries to get a look at him she sees that he's wearing a ski-mask. He must be older, because even though he knows what he's doing, they're well-matched. It's not the embarrassingly quick defeat she'd met at Maddox's hands.

They collide again and it's all knees jabbing into ribs and bursts of bruising, shooting pain - for both of them - until she finally gets the perfect opportunity. She drops him like she dropped Demming in the gym so long ago, face down, her knees pinned at his hips, his arm twisted and yanked back at a dangerous angle.

"Tell me where he is," she whispers harshly, pulling up on his arm while simultaneously pressing down on his trapezoid. Any further, and she'll dislocate his shoulder.

"Thought it might be you," the man says. The voice is gruff and familiar, but she can't quite place it.

She drives her weight into him, his tendons straining to hold his shoulder together.

"Where. Is. Castle."

"Rick's fine, Kate."

Kate inhales sharply, the pieces falling into place, the voice surging up from her memory, the realization crashing over her.

"You have got to be kidding me. I should have known you'd be involved in this." She moves one knee to his shoulder so she can use her hand to rip off the ski mask. Hunt's white hair stands on end and the corner of his mouth that's not smashed into the dock curves up in greeting.

"Good to see you, Kate. Although I really hoped our boy wouldn't call in the cavalry."

"He's not _our _boy. He's mine," Kate growls. "Give me one good reason not to put a bullet in every one of your limbs and leave you to bleed out on this dock."

"I can give you more than one, but I suspect the one that will be successful is that Rick's very close, and you need me to tell you where he is. I've got an even better reason, but I'll let him tell you all about that one when you see him."

Kate hovers over him, hatred spilling out of every muscle, pressing him hard into the splintered decking. She's angry, not for herself (although the way Hunt had played them like a pawn after his last little visit was frankly embarrassing) but for her partner. She'd seen how wrecked Castle was after his father's last appearance. He'd brooded for days, his illusions of paternal affection shattered when Hunt tricked them and then murdered someone in cold blood.

She's not about to let Hunt just stand up; he's completely unpredictable and highly trained. She needs leverage, and she's not sure how to get the upper hand. If Hunt wanted to, he could probably get her off his tail, and then she wouldn't be any closer to finding her fiancé. Maybe the only option is to play along. As stony as Hunt has been, maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he'll just take her right to Castle.

Yeah, right.

"I could let you up, but the thing is, you haven't given me a single reason to trust you after what you did to Castle and I in the library. So unfortunately for you, I'm going to have to do this."

She wrenches Hunt's arm out of his socket.

To his credit, the man only grunts once. Beckett dislocated her shoulder during her first month at the Police Academy, and she'd been so green she'd gone into shock. She's a lot harder now, but she still doesn't think she could handle it as well as the man beneath her.

Beckett pats him down for weapons, collecting two knives and a gun fitted with a long silencer. "Don't worry. I'll pop your shoulder back in for you - after you take me to my fiancé."

"Well played, Detective," Hunt grinds out, arm hanging limply at his side. "Expected nothing less of you. But, for the record, I would have just taken you to him."

"Yeah, well I guess we'll never know," Beckett bites out. "Get up."

Beckett helps Hunt to his feet, careful not to put herself in a vulnerable position. Even down one arm, she's leery of what this man is capable of.

"There are keys in my pocket. No funny business, but you'll have to get them. I would, but they're on the side with my bad arm."

"I can see where Castle got his moves," Beckett mutters. "Pretty sure you can reach it with the other hand."

Hunt sighs and twists so he can reach his opposite pocket.

"They're for the second to last jet ski on the left."

"Why a jet ski? I thought he was on a boat."

"He is. It's parked offshore."

Beckett scans the dim horizon, where the navy of the sea meets the only slightly lighter shade of the sky.

"Obviously, you'll have to drive. You do know how, right?"

"Yes," she snaps. He doesn't need to know it's a lie. She's never driven a boat before, but she can probably figure it out on the spot.

_How hard can it be?_

* * *

_Author's Note_: I'm so grateful for all the follows and reviews I've gotten on this piece so far. It's an absolute privilege to write for you. If you're following but haven't reviewed yet, I'd love to hear what you think! This is the first story of significant length that I've created, and reviews and follows are what encourage me to keep writing. - Bri x


	9. Reunion

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* * *

**Chapter Nine**  
Reunion

* * *

The jet ski turns out to be fairly easy to drive, especially since they're keeping to a low speed, trying to make as little noise as possible. Beckett actually finds herself enjoying the ride, relishing the way the warm sea air tangles with her curls and the salt stings her cheeks. The moonlight frosts over the water, reminding her of other nights spent in the Hamptons. Wrapped up in broad arms, rocking on Castle's porch swing. Lying on a blanket on the grassy green of his lawn. Sharing a lounge chair after they'd finally gotten around to skinny dipping in his pool. Kate smiles as they speed towards the shadow of Hunt's boat. Castle would tease her for thinking it, but she can _feel_ him. Knows deep in her bones that she's getting closer to him.

Hunt tells her to cut the engine and sidle up to the boat. It's quiet and dark, and there's no immediate sign of Castle.

"Well, at least he's not hanging over the side this time," Hunt says.

Beckett throws a questioning look over her shoulder.

"Oh, you know him, got stuck trying to escape."

She can't suppress her grin. Of course he would.

She helps Hunt onto the deck and lets him clumsily tie the watercraft up with his good arm. She nudges him to go down the steps first, just in case Rick's waiting with a frying pan or something equally as ridiculous.

Hunt swings the door open cautiously, but the galley is empty.

"Bedroom's through there," he nods. "Go ahead, I'll give you two a minute."

Beckett narrows her eyes suspiciously. Is he genuinely giving them a moment, or does he have a card up his sleeve? She's impatient to see Castle but she's not stupid, so she takes a moment to search the room, lifting the seat cushions and opening the cupboards to make sure she's not leaving Hunt with anything dangerous.

"You don't have to do that. I'm on your side," he says, but Beckett doesn't stop, inspecting whatever gaps she can find for stashed weapons.

"I guess a little gratitude is too much to ask," Hunt grumbles, flopping down on one of the bench seats.

When she's satisfied with her search, Beckett tosses him one last threatening glance, then turns to tap the bedroom door open gently. The knob is completely gone, and she suspects that it's her partner's handiwork.

She loses her breath when she walks in, because the small room is filled with his scent, is filled with _him_, and her chest aches with the joy of it. He's stretched out on the bed, laying flat on his back, eyes closed, and he looks so innocent and angelic in the moonlight that her eyes water.

Kate kneels quietly by the bed, getting just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Castle's body. Her hungry fingers reach for the errant lock of hair tumbling over his forehead, the one that he fiddles with for whole minutes each morning, making sure it falls just right. She loves him so much, this silly, amazing, gentle giant of a man.

"Figures you'd be asleep on the job," she whispers to his sleeping form, adoration coating her voice.

One blue eye pops open, then the other, his face instantly brightening with a mixture surprise and elation.

Sometimes he takes away her ability to speak, to think, and she can only smile, so wide and radiant that her muscles strain to contain it. It feels like years since she's smiled like this, even though it was only yesterday morning, when she answered her phone and he told her he was on his way to their wedding with documents in hand.

"Kate?" Her name comes out on a breath of awe, as if he thinks he's dreaming. "What are you doing here?"

"Come on, Castle, you really thought I'd let you hide from me for six months? I have to admit, it's a pretty original way of getting out of a wedding," she teases, tongue trapped between the teeth of her grin. "Cold feet?"

"Not cold feet. Never cold feet."

He moves fast, swinging his legs around so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and before she knows what's happening he's pulling her onto his lap. Out of pure muscle memory, her arms loop around his neck and he drops his forehead into hers, shuddering with the humble, heartbreaking breaths of a man who's been given a second life. Her eyes fall shut, absorbing only the feel of him, the warmth and the familiar musk and the comfort of his skin on hers, pressed brow to brow. Of all the beautiful things she has ever felt with him, everything's always finished with a top coat of one single emotion. Gratitude. She's just so incredibly grateful for this man, for his love, his patience and impatience, and for his presence in her life, one that grew from the size of an annoying pea under her stack of mattresses to…well, the whole castle. And, apparently, he's turned her into the cheesiest, sappiest romantic around.

His voice rumbles through her when he speaks. "I wasn't sleeping on the job."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I was poised, ready to attack. I heard my father talking to someone, but you were sneaky. Didn't say anything. I thought it might have been a bad guy."

"A bad guy, huh? Twenty-four hours without me and your vocabulary has certainly taken a turn for the worse," she ribs. They're falling into one another, their particular gravity pulling their faces so close together that her lips brush against his as she speaks, ever so lightly, and the tingling, blissful shock of it is almost better than their first two kisses.

"Hey, I was drugged," he pouts, and she's instantly flooded with concern. She's about to pull back and check him over for damage, but then his lips are claiming hers, fitting perfectly around the archer's bow of her upper lip, letting her close around his bottom one the way she likes to. They've perfected this. Breathing the same intoxicating air, lapping up one another's love. Once they start it's impossible for them to stop, and they pour their relief out through the slide of their tongues and the gentle nudges of their noses.

And then Kate's control snaps, all of the weight of the day spiraling down, and she just…freaks out a little bit. Her kisses become frantic and starving. She _attacks_ him with her mouth, trying to press her lips to every square inch of his neck, his forehead, his nose. She's running off the rails, trying to inhale him, and she's completely not thinking when her tongue flattens against his cheek and _drags_ as a purely animal possessiveness surges through her.

She can feel the curve of his smile where it's buried in the smooth skin of her neck, can feel the rolling tumble of his laugh.

"Did you just lick my face?"

"Shut up," she breathes into his ear, and she lets her tongue dart out again, tracing the shell of it before closing her teeth on his lobe.

His fingers get caught in the salty windblown tangles of her hair and he abandons the journey in favor of just grabbing her head, with both hands. Kate retaliates, her own hands gliding feverishly until they find purchase, and neither of them gentle when Castle captures her lips again. Drugged by his kiss, she loses all sense of time and place. She surges forward to settle further up on his lap, pressing her thighs tightly around his middle.

Castle grunts and slides his hands under her, lifting her a few inches to keep her weight off his bandaged thigh, but it serves only to topple her forward. Her breasts crush into his chest, which would normally be a good thing - a very good thing - but instead of the usual appreciative moan, he hisses and lets loose a string of profanities. Kate jumps back like she's been burned, guilt washing over her.

"Oh shit, sorry."

"Like I said, just a little beat up," he coughs out.

"Where are you hurt?"

Castle gestures vaguely at his chest. "From the airbag in my car."

"Let me see."

Kate's slender fingers twist around the top button of his shirt and she presses a kiss to the unmarred skin at the center of his collarbone.

"Okay, lovebirds, time's up." Hunt's muffled voice is accompanied by a rap on the door that has them separating faster than teenagers.

Castle scrubs a hand over his face. Apparently both of his parents have a special talent for interrupting tender moments.

Beckett slides off Castle's lap. Now that the passion's cooled, she promptly collides against the wall of questions that have been building over the course of the day. When she'd heard Castle's voice on the phone, she was too relieved to be upset, but on the drive over she'd gotten a little worked up about his 'gallantry'. Because that has to be what's going on - that's the only reason he'd stupidly allow himself to be sequestered without her. He thinks he's saving her by not being with her, and it's sweet, but it's ridiculous. Losing Castle is probably the only thing that could truly destroy the formidable Katherine Beckett.

He's so adorable though, that she can't come down too hard on him. "That reminds me, you have some explaining to do," she scolds.

He levels a stern blue glare on her. God, he's handsome when he's serious. "So do you, Miss 'I-Won't-Investigate.'"

"I'm not investigating. Technically."

"Well, let's get this over with. I'll let my father tell you all about his genius plan," Castle spits sarcastically.

Kate nods. The two of them emerge from the bedroom, Castle's hand riding low and warm on Kate's back, and she lets her own hand swing behind her, bumping against his thigh with every step. They do it without thinking, reluctant to part even an inch after staring down what might have been a long separation.

The bitter smell of cheap, strong coffee rises from the counter at the end of the room. Castle eyes his father, who's stirring freeze-dried coffee grounds into hot water with his left hand. The other is hanging at an awkward angle and dangles with his movements.

"What happened to your arm?" Castle asks.

"I don't think your bride is a fan of your old man, Rick."

"Yeah, well, who could blame her?"

For just a moment, a fleeting look of pain shoots across Hunt's face, but it's gone so quickly Castle thinks he may have imagined it.

Castle hates himself a little bit, because there's this tiny light of hope in him that refuses to be quashed. Hope that maybe his father does love him. After all, Hunt's saved his life, more than once, and to hear him tell it he certainly didn't have to. He could have stayed out of that mess in Paris, although that may have been more about Alexis. But there was the James Bond book, and the hug that felt real even if it had been just to plant a tracking device in Rick's pocket. God, he's a desperate puppy dog. He has so much love in his life, but he still craves the attention of this man, who contributed nothing but a bit of DNA to his life.

Ever watchful, Kate touches his arm. "Babe, sit down and have some coffee." He smiles for her, trying to shake off his dark musings.

Hunt sets three mugs on the table and sinks down onto the bench across from them. Beckett takes a sip, and even though the coffee is lukewarm, black and downright horrific, she swallows greedily. Yes, she's been spoiled by Castle's daily offerings, but she's not so soft that she can't drink instant coffee. Besides, she hasn't eaten all day, and she can feel the nagging signs that her body is about to crash.

Castle, on the other hand, gags dramatically and wipes his tongue on the sleeve of his now thoroughly destroyed dress shirt. He keeps quiet though, and Beckett raises her eyebrows because that's got to be a first. Obviously something about Hunt makes him hold back, and she wonders if he's trying to look brave or tough for his dad. Funny, because he's the bravest person she knows, and complaining about shitty coffee isn't going to change that.

It's Beckett who finally breaks the silence.

"So, I'm going to ignore the fact that yesterday was supposed to be our wedding day and focus on whatever life-threatening occurrence has driven us out here. Castle told me he's being targeted. Who's after him?"

The two men take turns bringing Beckett up to speed. Hunt does most of the talking, and Castle interrupts every now and then with some vivid details, unable to let the story be told in such a cut and dried fashion, especially when it comes to the part about the car crash, trying to make himself look as dignified as possible. Beckett listens, her brilliant mind absorbing every detail, checking for inconsistencies, asking questions when she finds them, probing until she knows everything that Castle knows and drawing a few more details out of Hunt.

"So, what's the plan? How can we take this person down?"

"_We _aren't taking him down. Castle is going into WITSEC until _I_ can clear this up. You're going back to the city."

"Like hell I am. If he's going into hiding, I'm going with him."

Castle erupts. "What? Kate, no, go back home, let this blow over. You won't be safe with me if they're after me."

"Castle," she warns, voice low. She doesn't want to do this in front of his dad. They've argued before on the subject of putting themselves in harm's way for the other, and have begrudgingly agreed that they'll both just have to get over the fact that if one of their lives is in danger, so is the other's. Castle's situation is definitely less immediate than her standing on a bomb, but she's going to be his bomb buddy and she sure as hell isn't leaving the building. Boat. Or wherever the hell else they end up.

She squeezes his hand under the table, watching as his gaze drops to where they're woven together. When he notices the rings that she's wearing on her thumb and fourth finger - their rings - his eyes snap back up to hers, searching, asking. They've always been able to have whole conversations in the space of a silence. He traces the platinum bands reverently, and she knows that he can hear her heart, can hear her saying_ 'you're my home.'_

She turns back to his father. "You know this makes sense. Castle and I are safer together than apart, and if anyone does come after him, you know what I'm capable of. I refuse to go back to the city and pretend to carry on with my life without him, not now." She's been through enough interrogations that she knows she's not getting through, so she switches tactics. Her voice hardens, becomes commanding, the same way it does with a stubborn suspect. "If you send me back to the city, you know you'd have to personally put me in the ground to stop me from going after whoever ordered that hit. So right now, the only thing you need to be worrying about is how to get me into WITSEC with him."

Hunt smiles wanly. "I thought you might say something like that. You two are excellent at throwing wrenches in my plans."

Castle's father is silent, and Kate can almost hear him thinking, turning her proposal over in his mind, weighing the risks, recalibrating his strategy.

"Okay. I can get you in."

She lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Dad! No, Beckett, please - "

"I gotta make a call." Hunt stands and heads out onto the deck, ignoring Castle's obvious objection and mild state of panic.

"Beckett, what - why - I mean, what about your job? You heard him, it could take six months, maybe more. I can't ask you to give up your life."

"Castle, hush. My job isn't my life."

He sputters, but she presses her fingers softly against his mouth. There was a time when she had nothing in her arsenal to keep him quiet other than an icy glare. It's much easier to stop him talking now that she can touch him. And quite a lot easier when they're alone.

"Rick. Do you want to know what I wrote in my vows? I was going to promise you that I'd have your back until the end. Even though I didn't get to stand up and say the words in front of a huge crowd, I still mean them. This is what partners do. I want to be with you, and my job and our lives in New York are just getting in the way of that. If we need to run in order to be together, I'll run. Two years ago, I would have fought, or gone down fighting, but I'm sick of it. I'm sick of people coming after us for no good reason. Let's just hole up, let your dad deal with this, and just be together. Think of it as a honeymoon," she teases.

Castle drops a quick kiss to each corner of her mouth. "You trust him?"

"Not completely, but I do believe that he saved your life today instead of ending it, and if he made that choice, it must mean something. He's giving up a lot to keep you safe, Rick, and honestly, I'm not sure we really have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah, you're right. I just hope he can fix this."

"Hey. Hunt might be ruthless, and a little cold - "

"A little?" Castle scoffs.

"But he seems like he knows what he's doing. If he says he can fix it, maybe we should just…let him try."

She leaves it unspoken, but he can see the savage promise in her eyes. That if Hunt fails, she will rise from the darkness and fight for Castle's life with her own hands.

Hunt blusters back into the galley and tosses a small black duffel bag onto the table.

"Everything you'll need should be in there, but I need to meet with my contact in WITSEC and pick up Kate's ID. You two should eat something, get cleaned up, get some sleep. You'll have a long couple of days ahead of you until you can get to your new place."

Beckett frowns. Usually, witnesses are under twenty-four hour protection courtesy of the government until they reach their safe destination. "I take it we're not getting an escort, then."

"Unfortunately, no. I need to get going, but I'll give you more details when I get back." Hunt glances down at his incapacitated arm. "One more thing though, Rick. Do you think you could undo your fiancé's damage?"

"Uh, sure, I guess," Castle shrugs. "How?"

"Just pull on my arm, really slowly but steadily."

Castle takes a hold of his father's hand. He's so…short. It's strange, he thinks, that he never got to _physically_ look up to his father like most boys do.

Hunt grunts when Castle pulls, the muscles stretching even further out of place than they are already.

"Is it working?"

"Yeah, keep pulling."

Finally, there's a dull pop, the reverberation of tendons snapping back into place vibrating through both of their bodies. Hunt rotates his shoulder gingerly and smiles at Castle, crow's feet deepening, blue eyes sparkling.

"Don't do anything stupid, son."

They watch from the deck as Hunt speeds off towards the shore.

Castle pouts. "Why do people always say that to me and not you?"

* * *

_Author's Note: I can't decide whether to post the next chapter (aka smut) separately or up the rating of this story to M. What would you prefer?_


	10. Heal Me (M-Rated)

_WARNING: This chapter is rated M. It's safe to read up to the first line break, and you won't miss any plot development if you want to skip forward from there. Thank you all so much for weighing in on the decision on how to post this chapter, it's awesome to have a loyal readership and I love hearing from you all! Hope you enjoy this one. -Bri x_

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**Chapter Ten**  
Heal Me

* * *

They stand together silently after Hunt disappears against the dark shoreline. For just a moment, everything seems normal, like they've just come out to the coast to spend a few uninterrupted days together. Castle rests his chin on Beckett's shoulder and lets his hands fall to her hips, thumbs tracing circles along the ridge of her tailbone because he knows it makes her purr. Sure enough, she lets out a little growl of appreciation and leans back against the hot breadth of his chest.

"_Ouch." _Castle inhales the word through his teeth.

"Oh! Sorry."

"No worries, it doesn't really hurt that bad," he says, but the dramatic grimace on his face says otherwise.

Kate turns in his arms, eyes sparkling. "Remind me to teach you how to do a proper handbrake turn sometime."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

She's letting him off easy; she could have seriously ribbed him for his stupid moment of bravado in the car. He hopes she never tells Esposito about it. He'd have a field day.

He's still a little too caught up in their reunion to be thinking clearly. She must be as well, because instead of lecturing him, she smiles at him tenderly. "Let's get you inside, tough guy. Your dad's right. We should eat. I'll take a look at your injuries afterwards."

He pulls her back into him, careful not to let them collide anywhere above the waist. Below the waist is absolutely fair game, and he's still stunned at how quickly the contact gives him … ideas. He waggles his eyebrows at her. "Only if you promise to be gentle with me, nurse."

She tilts her chin down and looks up at him saucily. "I will promise no such thing." The innuendo crackles through the air between them, and they're both grateful for it. For how it makes their world straighten a fraction more.

Maybe they should be panicking, planning, running - anything but staying put and doing nothing, but he's doing for her what he's always done, bringing light into the darkness, making her forget about reality so she can just soak in him. In them.

And if he wants to play, she's more than happy to join in. She can feel the burn of his eyes on her ass as she leads him down to the galley, even though her body is mostly hidden by his baggy black hoodie. The moonlight seeps in after them, and she gives him a little show in silhouette as she peels the hoodie off, her shirt riding up and exposing the smooth expanse of her lower back.

"Kate, you're killing me here." He reaches for her, hooking a finger through her belt loop, but she smacks his hand away.

"Food first, " she admonishes, turning to rummage through the cabinets. Her face suddenly feels very warm, but they really do need to eat. Besides, he can wait a few minutes. It's always more fun if she gets him a little worked up first.

"Jeez, Castle, I think your dad's pantry is even more pathetic than mine. What do you want? Spaghettios, mac and cheese with no milk, or Ramen noodles?"

"Better go with the mac and cheese. It has more protein than the others."

They work together in the small space to prepare their meal, brushing against but never bumping into one another. She'd know where he was with her eyes closed. She knows exactly how he moves to counter her steps, and knows how to mold herself around him as he reaches and stretches. It's so _ordinary_, cooking with him, but Kate's not sure if she's ever been so happy. This morning she thought she'd lost him, and here he is, doing mundane things like boiling water and clattering around bullishly in the cupboards. God, she missed him. It's pathetic, really, because they'd been apart for less than a day, but not knowing where he was made every minute feel like a year.

Before long, their macaroni is ready, and Castle dishes it out into bowls for them. As soon as Beckett smells the food, a vicious hunger rises in her, hollowing out her stomach. She starts shoveling the pasta in, completely unconcerned with being ladylike. But as the silence lengthens, Castle's mood dims. She watches him fade in front of her, the weight of worry settling heavily on his shoulders. He eats slowly, brooding into his bowl. When she finishes, she drops her fork in her empty bowl and props her elbows on the table. Their eyes meet, and his are so sad, so blue, that she just wants to hold him and kiss his worries away.

"Babe? What's up?"

"I just. Are you …" Castle takes a shaky breath and starts again. "Kate, are you sure about this? You know you can turn around whenever you like, right? It sounds like I'll be okay in this safe house place, so if you want to, you can go back to the city. You know I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt, so if you're not sure - "

"Castle." She reaches her hand out and he meets her in the center of the table, winding his fingers between her smaller ones. "I'm sure. Now eat your macaroni."

* * *

After they eat, Beckett ushers him into the bedroom to re-dress his wounds. Before switching the bedside table lamp on, she wads up some of Hunt's shirts and stuffs them into the narrow window gap to keep any light from escaping and giving their location away.

Castle perches on the side of the bed and starts in on his shirt buttons. When Kate finishes and turns around, the warm low glow of light reveals him to her clearly for the first time tonight. Her eyes widen as she takes in the mottled green and purple blotches on his chest.

"It looks worse than it feels," he assures her.

She moves silently, dropping to her knees before him, unzipping the massive and very well-stocked first aid kit she'd found in the kitchen. Her fingers are light and quick as she works, and he watches her the whole time, amazed by the soft adoration in her eyes and the gentle care with which she handles him now. It's so different to the hostile venom she'd spat at him in the very beginning of their partnership. He sometimes can't believe that they were any other way than they are now. That they were anything but kind to one another.

She's healing him with her touch as much as she is with medicine and bandages. He wonders if she feels the same as he feels about their short separation. He'd been numb with the shock of it, but he knows if they'd been apart much longer no amount of painkiller could have kept the heartbreak from destroying him.

But they're here together now, healing in more ways than one. Even though the time and place are probably completely inappropriate, he finds himself wanting more. Wanting to reconnect, reaffirm. She must be feeling the same pull, if the way she looks at him when her fingers finally still is any indication. They're staring, locked in a gaze that means a million things, the air thickening with the intensity of their connection.

"There. All fixed up," she whispers, letting enough of the pressure off to snap him back into breathing.

"Not quite," Castle says, glancing sheepishly down at his thigh.

"Is that from the crash too?" she asks, even though she looks like she knows the answer.

"No. I sorta kinda had a fishing lure stuck in my leg."

"Sorry I missed it, she grins, shaking her head in amusement. "Must have been a sight."

"You know, I'm not sure I did a very good job patching it up earlier," Castle hints. Her eyes darken when she looks up at him.

"Well, I'd better change your bandage, then," she says, reaching for his belt and slipping the leather from his buckle slowly. She curls her fingers under the waistband of his pants and looks up at him with kittenish eyes. God, those eyes, the thick rim of her lashes framing the entrancing hazel arousal. There is nothing sexier than Katherine Beckett when she's hell-bent on driving him absolutely crazy.

Castle helps her peel his pants off. Her fingers dance at his knee, then she's sliding her hands up, pressing the thin fabric of his boxer briefs into the crease of his thigh so she has better access to his wound.

She tries to remove the old bandaid carefully, but a few hairs get yanked along with it. He pinches his eyes shut and keeps them closed as she rubs antibiotic ointment along the gash and seals it under a fresh bandage.

He opens them when he feels her drop her head against his knee. She's inhaling him, fingers twirling at his ankle, her own eyes closed in reverence. He almost doesn't hear her, the words are so quiet.

"I thought I'd lost you, Castle."

He doesn't know what to say that isn't stupidly obvious, so instead he twines one hand into her hair and just lets her bathe in her relief. He knows exactly how she feels. She's lucky that she gets to touch him, because when he'd found out she was awake after her grueling cardiac surgery, all he'd wanted to do was touch her, make sure she was real, drink her in and flush all of the horror from his veins, and he simply couldn't. So he'll be silent for her, be still until she wants him to move.

Unfortunately, his body has other ideas. It must be a Pavlovian response to Beckett kneeling on the ground between his legs. He won't say anything. He'll just sit quietly and not move - well, not move any of the muscles he has control over - and hope that she doesn't notice the growing situation just inches from her face.

Her eyes are still closed, but somehow she knows.

"I take it you missed me, then?"

"Very much," he croaks.

She opens her eyes then, sleepily, staring straight ahead at where he's firming for her.

And then she trails her fingers up, up, up, sliding her thumb under his shorts, seeking the warmth caught in the angle where his leg meets his torso before pulling back and tracing the edge of the bandage with her fingernail. He crushes out her name, and she responds instantly, letting her hand rush over the front of his boxers, her palm molding tightly over the shape of him, eyes locking hotly on his.

And then she rises, standing tall before him, guiding his fingers to the button on her pants even as she carefully draws his shirt down over his shoulders. She leans down to him, connecting with his mouth again, and he can't hold back. He tugs her and they both topple backwards, her hips settling warmly over his, pinning him down, and her control snaps as well. For a moment, it's fast and ferocious and desperate, and he breaks their kiss to tug her shirt roughly off over her head, but then she forces herself to slow down, to take her time when she kisses him.

A few days after their first real kiss, when she realized that he truly was her forever, she made a silent promise to herself that she'd never take him for granted. She's worried that she's already failed. They used to spend ridiculous amounts of time just kissing. One specific occasion springs to mind, when Castle needed to catch a flight to Chicago for a book signing. She remembers sitting on the counter in her kitchen, swinging her legs as she watched him rush through a breakfast of buttered toast because they'd used up their pancake making time making…other things. When she'd followed him to the door, a quick goodbye kiss had turned into a twenty-minute make out session against the wall. And _damn_, nobody kisses quite like Rick Castle. The rest of her body had just faded away. He'd kept himself carefully apart from her, cocky with the knowledge that he was liquifying her with only his mouth and the one warm palm spread against her cheek. The kiss was exquisitely slow, and she drank in every slide of his flesh against hers, felt every nerve light up when he touched her with his lips, tongue, teeth, thumb. It was like he could read her mind, knowing exactly when she needed him to deepen the kiss, or slow down, or bite her lower lip and tug gently.

He does the same thing now, drawing the firm line of his tongue over the slippery skin that he's caught. There's a tiny spark of pain when his teeth dig into the flesh that she chewed to bits over the course of the day, but it's not unpleasant.

"You've been biting your lip," he says, and she knows he's tasting the same silvery sting that she tastes, knows he feels the same raw patches.

"Yeah, well, it was a rough day."

"I'm so sorry, Kate."

"Not your fault."

"If I hadn't written - "

"Not your fault, Castle."

She shuts him up in what's maybe the second-best way possible, by dragging the lace of her bra over his lips.

"Mmm, this is new," he says, and then he uses his teeth to nip at the line of ivory fabric at the curve of her breast. There are clusters of tiny pearls sewn all over, and it looks so decadent and feminine that he instantly knows it's the bra she must have been wearing under her wedding dress.

He catches just a shadow of despondency in the hazel glades of her irises, but instead of lamenting with her, he pulls her back to the light.

"I'd better do some spelunking. Find out if this is a matching set."

She smiles and rocks back, giving him access to her zipper, and his large hands sweep the fabric of her trousers down, warmly grasping the outside of her thighs as his thumbs sweep over the underwear that do indeed match the bra. It's everything he imagined Katherine Beckett as a bride would be.

"You're exquisite, Kate."

"Yeah, well, you should have seen the garters."

He groans, slipping his hands under the lace, roughly attempting to gather every last bit of her perfect ass into his hands. She grinds against him in response, and the friction is so powerful that he wonders if either of them will last long enough to get their clothes off.

Apparently not. Kate reaches down between them and pulls him out, rubbing him twice, long, tight strokes with her fist, before shoving her underwear to one side and dragging herself hotly against him. She's still upright, the muscles in her stomach rippling as she fights to keep her balance, and he knows she's trying not to hurt him, not to touch his chest, but he wants her closer. Not that he doesn't love this view, this magnificent, triumphant woman towering above him, mouth dropped open with pleasure, but after the day they've had he just needs to be able to kiss her.

He weaves his hands into hers, spreading her fingers wide around his thicker ones until they curl together into two heavy fists before bringing them down towards his ears. She falls forward, catching herself just in time, her nipples just millimeters from his raw skin. Her hair falls in a curtain around them, wrapping them up in the humidity of their shared breath.

She moves her body down, just a little bit, finding him with the hot hollow of her entrance, teasing them both as she aligns them. And then she kisses him, dropping her lips to his, timing it perfectly with the drop of her hips. She engulfs him in one fierce swallow, and he's not sure who makes more noise, their moans turning into one in the combined cavern of their mouths.

They move slowly at first, reveling in every sparkling sensation, but with each stroke the pleasure tugs at them. With every tiny acceleration there's a stronger pull towards the edge of ecstasy, and they start rocking faster and faster until there's only a split second of normalcy between long stretches of _amazing_, and then she's moving so quickly above him that it's just one long, constant hum of electricity.

He's reduced to a single muscle, straining upwards until he thinks he might be in her very soul.

She slams down onto his thighs repetitively, moving so quickly that he knows she's completely forgotten about being careful with him. The cut on his thigh is getting battered, but she's lost control and he doesn't care. After a few more hard slides, the natural morphine of sex replaces all the soreness in his body with fizzing pleasure. He drives up into her with all his force. Her agonized '_Oh!' _resonates through the small room. He might regret it later, but _fuck_, he loves the way she shudders forward, reaching desperately for something to hold onto even though she must know the wall is smooth.

He does it again. Over and over, rough hard jolts until she breaks, pulling him into a nosedive of pleasure with her. She stops riding, just stiffens as she comes, but he can't stop. He crashes up into her, both of them grinding desperate words of love from their hearts.

She must suddenly remember that he's hurt because she stops herself just as she's about to collapse onto him. She rolls to the side, pink and panting and gorgeous. He really didn't know beauty until he saw Kate Beckett post-orgasm.

"You know, Castle, if I didn't know any better, I'd have thought you got beat up just to lure me close to your pants-less self."

He squeezes the damp round curve of her shoulder, trying to catch his breath. "Who me? Never. Besides, we probably would have ended up naked anyway."

"Probably. It's all your fault, you know."

"My fault? Excuse me, Miss I'm-going-to-slink-around-and-remove-my sweatshirt-provocatively."

"Shut up and get dressed, Castle."

"Have I told you recently that I love you?"

"You may have mentioned it."

Kate drops one leg off the side of the bed, winding her toes in the fabric of his discarded pants. With one swift move, she sends them flying, and they land squarely on his face.

"By the way, I love you too, you ridiculous man."


	11. Departure

_Author's Note: In order for me to wrap this up before the 7x01, I'll be posting new chapters every Monday and Thursday._

_P.S. I've just figured out how to make GIFs. It's a dangerous, exhilarating world. Head on over to twitter and follow beautyrhythm if you're interested._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**  
Departure

* * *

Kate gently unravels her fingers from where they're still woven with Castle's so she can check her watch. They've spent too much time eating and tending to wounds and, um, reconnecting that they don't have time to nap before Hunt returns.

They're both dressed, at least, but Kate barely had time to splash water on her face and sweep her hair up into a tight ponytail before they'd fallen back into bed, lying on their sides, just staring at one another. It had almost ended today, _again_, and in those hours when she thought he might be gone, all she'd wanted was more time.

"Castle?"

"Mmm?"

"I wish I'd just said yes when you asked me to debrief you."

"Hmm." Castle's voice rumbles deliciously through her. "I don't. I mean, the sex would have been phenomenal, but would we have ended up here?"

"I'd like to think so. Although you were a bit of an ass back then. Might have been a bit more difficult to make you grow up."

"More difficult than freezers and bombs and drowning?"

"Maybe all that stuff would have happened anyway, only we could have been able to comfort each other instead of pretending like we didn't need help?"

"That would have been nice. Especially after that freezer incident. I was so cold, all I wanted was to crawl into my heavy duty Arctic sleeping bag with you."

"I took about five blistering hot showers that night," she confesses. "It would have been nice to have some company."

Initially, she'd been pleased that Josh hadn't ended up going to Haiti, because it felt like she'd had the last word in their argument, but the small satisfaction of that moment had faded quickly. When they got back to her apartment, Josh had tried to warm her up - she wasn't stupid enough to date a total douchebag - but he'd fallen asleep only minutes later. Even though she was still shivering, she'd rolled away from him because she suddenly just didn't want him touching her.

Because other things weren't fading quickly, like the way Castle had looked at her right before they'd let them out of the radiation tent, how he'd held her in that fucking freezer, and how he'd just truly been _there_ for her, dozens of times in less than a day. She'd crawled out of bed and taken those five showers alone because she didn't want Josh anywhere near her.

She wanted Castle.

"Kate, I'm sorry I -"

She presses her fingers over Castle's lips. "I think I hear your dad coming back."

He's quiet, but she hates how life seems determined to interrupt them, and if she's learned anything over the years with him, it's that they might not ever have more time.

"What were you going to say?"

"Just that … I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I felt about you sooner. We could have had so much more time."

"I know, Castle. And I'm sorry it took me so long to get better for you."

"You know I loved you just as much when you were a wreck."

She does know. It was the only thing that kept her going, knowing that he loved her enough to wait.

"I didn't love me as much. I couldn't have given you the things I can give you now. It would have been so one-sided, and that wouldn't have been fair to you."

"Fair shmair," he says, as if he would have been happy with her in his bed one night a week, waking up every morning to find her gone because she had to keep one foot out the door to protect her heart. There's no way he would have said no to a relationship based on booty calls, but what they have now is so much better, so much healthier.

"Well, we're here now, and that's what matters," she says. "We have a lot of time left, and I intend to spend every moment of it with you."

"Except when I'm in the bathroom, right?"

She smacks his shoulder. "Yes. Except when you're in the bathroom. And I might skip some of your meetings at Black Pawn. They don't exactly sound…scintillating."

"Yeah, I don't blame you. I'll just have to suffer alone, then."

"Poor baby. You'll have to earn your millions all by yourself." She pats his cheek and is almost surprised by the scrape of stubble she finds there. Oh, how she wants him to nuzzle into her neck, tickling her with the rough strands until she begs him to work his way down her body. Before she can get carried away again, she sits up. "Come on, let's make the bed before your dad realizes what we've been up to."

Castle blanches a little bit, springing into action when he feels the jet ski bump into the side of the boat. The whole floor sways when his dad steps onto the deck.

They tumble back into the kitchen just as Hunt comes down the stairs. His eyes slide from Rick to Kate, keen and piercing. "You two look guilty as hell, but I'm not even going to ask."

He slaps a passport down on the table. "We've got about fifteen minutes, so listen carefully. You've got new identities, but until I clear this up, you absolutely have to avoid surveillance cameras. I don't have to tell you that facial recognition software has come a long way, and I'm betting you'll get put on the watch list as soon as word gets out that Kate's disappeared. It'll give them reasonable doubt that I didn't finish my job. You get caught by a camera at a convenience store, in an alley, in the lobby of a hotel, it'll pop, and they'll close in on you faster than you can say CIA."

Kate nods, mind already spinning, planning, plotting. "Where's our safe house?"

"There's a cabin a few miles outside of a town called Malone in upstate New York. WITSEC hasn't used it in years, as it's not their best location, but it'll work perfectly for us." Hunt fishes around in the bag he'd brought in earlier, sliding Castle's passport and a clunky black GPS across the table.

"This is one of the first personal GPS devices on the market, so don't expect it to work very well. It'll be harder to trace than a phone, and I bought it from a street vendor for cash, so I'm pretty confident no one will know it's you that has it. When you get close to Malone and don't need it anymore, ditch it, preferably in a public trash can so it travels to a landfill and leads the trail away from you, just in case. Beckett? You bring your phone?"

"Yeah, but I took the SIM card out before I left the city."

"Well done." Hunt looks so much like a proud father that Kate has to look away, feeling like her answering surge of affection is a betrayal to Castle. They're supposed to be mad at Hunt, right? That fact, which was so clear on when she first found out he was involved, is starting to become blurry. Yes, he ruined their wedding day, but he's also saving Castle's life.

"Yeah, uh, thanks," she mumbles.

"I did, however, see that you drove the Ferrari here. I'll deal with that after you get on your way."

Castle mocks a startled gasp. "Katherine Beckett, did you steal my car? I should call the police."

"Needed to get to you quickly," she shrugs, patting his knee.

"I always knew you were a slippery one," he beams. He snaps back to Hunt. "Wait a minute - did you say you'd 'take care of it?' You do know that's a two hundred thousand dollar car, right?"

"Would you rather lose a car or lose your life?"

"Point taken."

"If you run into any trouble, if anyone comes after you, don't call me. Government's testing out some new voice recognition software, and about half of the phone lines in the country are being monitored already. There's only one way to contact me. You ever heard of fan fiction?"

"Sure, people write stories about Nikki Heat all the time," Kate says. Castle looks at her incredulously.

"Are you finally admitting that you read fan fiction inspired by our books?"

"What, don't you?"

"Not allowed. Gina would kill me. But I confess I may have looked at a few when the first Derrick Storm came out. I wonder if there are any good scenes between Nikki and Rook…" Castle gets a dreamy look on his face and Beckett pinches his thigh under the table. She knows for a fact there are some incredibly steamy scenes written about their fictional counterparts, but she doesn't want to think about them in the presence of her future father in law.

"Search for the story called _Heat-Seeking Missile,_" Hunt continues.

Castle snorts. "What kind of title is that?"

"Oh, like _Naked Heat_ is any better," says Beckett.

Castle glares at her and Hunt chuckles.

"Hey, you two. As much as I enjoy your little comedy routine, we need to get moving. So if you need me, get on a public computer, find the story and leave a comment."

"What do we do about money?" Beckett asks.

"There are credit cards in the bag, but use cash until you're at the cabin. You don't want a trail linking you back to Manhattan. You're set up with bank accounts and full financial histories, so you won't get flagged up as suspicious if you need to buy something big, like a car. Don't get caught speeding, though, because the photos on your licenses won't match the photos in the WITSEC system."

"Did your guy at WITSEC line us up with jobs?"

"No. There wasn't time, so you're going to have to get used to living on a much smaller budget, or find work."

Castle shudders visibly.

"If something goes wrong, Malone is pretty close to the border. Cross into Canada if you have to. As far as other loose ends go, do you think your boys will look for you?"

"They might, but I don't think they'll be able to follow me," Beckett says.

"We'll go with the story that you're missing for now, but if anyone starts digging deeper, I'll have to plant a body and intercept the DNA tests to make it look like you're dead too."

Kate nods, because tactically, it's the right thing to do. But then she remembers her father, and thinking of him and how he'd take the false news reminds her suddenly of Martha and Alexis.

_Shit._

She's been so giddy to be with Castle again that she'd forgotten that his mother and daughter still think he's missing. Or worse. She suddenly feels physically ill, like the macaroni has congealed into an undigestible lump in her stomach.

"Shit," Castle blurts out, and she knows they're on the same wavelength, as always. Not for the first time, she wonders if her thoughts can plant seeds in Castle's mind, or if it's the other way around.

"I need to talk to Alexis before I go, and Mother."

"Son, you know that's impossible - "

A red flush climbs up Castle's neck, his muscles petrifying until he's a solid column of anger. "You can't seriously expect me to - "

"Richard." Hunt interrupts him, forcefully enough to cut his tirade short. "You can't talk to them, but I can. I'll drop by tonight, after you're on your way, and tell them that you're safe and that you'll come back. I can't tell them where you're going, or when you'll be back, and they sure as hell better be able to keep a damn secret."

"Do you even know where they are?"

"Of course. They'll be staying at your Hamptons house until the preliminary investigation is over, I imagine. Even though Martha won't be overjoyed to see me, I'm willing to take the risk."

Castle seems mollified, but Beckett is completely unconvinced. She fixes Hunt with her most intense interrogation room stare, daring him to look her in the eye. He shifts in his chair, avoiding her gaze until Castle scrubs his hands over the tired lines of his face. Finally, he makes eye contact.

Hunt's eyes are muddy and dark. So unlike his son's. He's also much smaller than Rick, more compact somehow, solid and unmoving in a hard way. Castle, on the other hand, is always fidgeting and flitting from one thought to another, bright and quick to laugh.

As soon as their eyes meet, she knows he's lying. The filthy bastard. He has absolutely no intention of telling Martha and Alexis that they're okay.

She's about to explode, crawl across the table and kick him in the fucking face, but then he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, eyes full of pity and an apology that does actually look sincere. She pulls in three messy yoga breaths to center herself, pushing aside her more personal instincts so she can think about it like a cop.

She counts out to eight as she exhales, and when her lungs are empty, she begrudgingly realizes that Hunt is doing the right thing by not telling the girls. And he's doing the right thing by lying to Rick. Because if Castle thinks his father is going to let Martha and Alexis think he's dead, he'd be harder to control than a tornado. And maybe Martha can act, can make it look like she's really lost her son, but Alexis will give it away.

Kate clenches her jaw and nods once at Hunt, a silent agreement that feels like a pact with the devil. God, what a frustrating man. Half of her hates him, and half of her knows she should be thanking him for what he's doing. Maybe one day, when this has all blown over, she can get out some of her unresolved anger and unleash a torrent of very nasty words on her fiancé's father. He might be doing the right thing, but he's going about it in such a cold, painful way.

What little physical resemblance there is between the two men was enough to convince her before that they were actually related, and Castle never seemed to doubt it, but now she wonders if they need to do a DNA test. Castle is so very different to the man across the table. Rick is so wonderfully caring, and does usually think about how his actions affect others, because his own feelings get hurt so easily. The jackass she met six years ago was just a shell, hiding a man who has an incredible ability to _feel. _He can empathize with people in extraordinary situations, walk in their shoes and feel their feelings, and she's always admired his ability to write that into his novels, that deep exploration of what motivates people.

Hunt seems so frigid and tactical, but she understands better than anyone how it can be a veneer for something else, something human and tender. Every now and then, she catches a beam of fondness shining through when Hunt looks at Castle, so it's got to be in there somewhere. She understands the risks, the danger of having a job like Hunt's, but he should know he can trust them, should know that every now and then he can just be honest and _nice._

"So. Are we ready to get going?" Hunt asks impatiently, as if she hadn't just caught him in a lie.

Jackass.

"Yeah, I guess we are." Beckett says, trying to keep the ice out of her voice.

* * *

Less than half an hour later, Beckett is in the backseat of the same black SUV that "ran" Castle off the road, his hand tightly clasped in hers. He's nervous, clutching at her, shrinking into the seat as he watches the night pass by outside the heavily tinted windows. She can't really say she feels any better about this whole thing, but right now she'll be the strong one, his shield. He can scoop her off the floor later, when they're in Malone, but for now, she can shoulder the burden.

Her other hand is on her Glock, just in case Hunt has an ulterior motive and is leading them into a trap.

Hunt pulls to the side of the road, maneuvering the SUV into a dark patch between streetlights about a mile from an enormous truck stop that spans both sides of the highway. He twists around in the driver's seat to look at them.

"You got everything?"

Castle continues to stare out the window, so Beckett answers for him.

"Yeah."

She gives Hunt a look that says _fix this_. _ Or do you not have the balls?_

Hunt sighs and focuses on his son.

"Rick, I am sorry about all this. I know it seems like I've just made things worse today, but I couldn't figure out how to do this another way."

The appeal seems to cracks through Castle's armor.

"I know," he says softly, still staring out the window. "I'm sorry too. I wish we didn't have to get shoved into these situations. I wish we could just fight over how to cut the turkey at Thanksgiving or something."

"Ah, where's the fun in that?" Hunt chuckles. "Much better to fight over forged identities and government secrets."

Castle smiles weakly.

"You be careful, son."

"Yeah. Okay. Let us know when we can come back."

"Will do. Take care of each other," he says, offering Kate a smile that feels like another apology.

That's an easy promise to make. She'll take care of the man by her side for as long as she's living.

"We will. Thank you, for taking the risks you're taking to keep him safe."

"He's my son," Hunt says simply.

It's all getting a bit heavy. Kate can do sappy, but only with Rick. Hearing a father's love from someone who's still essentially a stranger is a bit awkward. She knows her 'looks' have power, but she'd still been surprised when Hunt apologized. Castle will be livid when he finds out about Martha and Alexis, but at least he'll have Hunt's apology for the other shit that's gone down today.

She's had enough of playing relationship counselor between the two men, so she nudges Castle with her elbow and he opens the car door. Once they're out of the vehicle, Kate tightens the straps on her bag and flips her hood up over her hair, dropping her face into a black oval of shadow. The SUV pulls away, gaining speed until the orange and white lights shrink into pinpricks and then disappear around a curve. Then they start walking, their shoes crunching in the gravel on the shoulder of the road.

After all that's happened, she can't believe it's still nighttime. It's just after three, and the gas station they're heading for is eerily fluorescent. It glows so brightly in the middle of nowhere that it looks like a scene from E.T.

There's a slope on their side of the road and they work their way down, traipsing through the brush at the bottom of the ditch, hands still tightly clasped. He keeps her upright when her boots hit a particularly squelchy patch of earth. She absorbs his shudders when he steps on the slimy creatures of his imagination.

They skirt around the back of the gas station where dozens of eighteen-wheelers are lined up in neat rows, parked for the night in the furthest corner of the lot. The further from the gas pumps and convenience store the more shadowy it is, and the last row is a popular place to park because the darkness means the drivers can catch some sleep in their cabs.

They creep through the unkempt grass behind the row of trucks. The trucks that will head north in the morning are parked on this side of the highway, so they just need to find one that's unlocked and hitch a ride for a few hundred miles. Preferably one with hinged doors or even a convenient person-sized door cut into the larger doors. The first one has a roll top door with a huge padlock threaded through the lever. Roll-tops are loud; there's not much chance they could get into one without waking the driver, but the ones with doors are a lot more likely to have locks.

She can almost hear Castle's heart thudding with adrenaline and excitement as they stand poised to dart across the space between the first and second trailers. She looks at him and the corner of his mouth quirks up. Now that they're away from his dad, he seems more like Castle. Normally, he'd be loving this secret mission, getting a huge kick out of all the logistics and danger and stealth. They have to move as quickly as they can, just in case one of the truckers happens to be looking in their side mirror.

The whole lot smells like diesel and cigarette smoke, and the fields behind must be full of crickets because the steady chirping is loud enough to cover their footfalls.

At the next truck, a cricket jumps so high it smacks Castle in the back of the hand and he shrieks, shoving a fist in his mouth before the sound has a chance to fully exit. Beckett crumples, giggling silently until her abs ache. The combination of no sleep, adrenaline, and Castle's adorable wimpiness must be getting to her.

Castle starts laughing too, both of them shaking, and he tugs her towards him, hiding his grin in her hair.

The static hiss of a CB radio interrupts them. They hear a door open, the sound of boots grinding over loose rock, coming closer, closer.

Castle recovers faster than Beckett. He grabs her and drops to the ground, rolling them under the truck as the man paces the alley between his truck - the truck they're now hiding under - and his neighbor's.

Pressed flat to the ground on their stomachs, they see the man's cigarette butt drop to the ground just a few feet from their faces, on the other side of the cluster of four gigantic wheels. The heel of a brown leather boot comes down on the butt, grinding out the glowing bud of light. The man walks around the end of his truck, giving the lock a quick experimental tug, then he continues up the other side. Finally, he climbs back up into the cab, his boots disappearing up the metal ladder.

They don't speak the words, asking each other if they're okay with their eyes. The rolling and lying on gravel didn't feel great on Castle's bruises, but he'll get over it. They crawl back out and sprint six trucks down to get away from the nocturnal trucker.

Three eighteen-wheelers later, they find one with an unlocked small door built into the larger door. Castle helps Beckett up, never one to miss an opportunity to 'accidentally' fondle her. She eases the door open and disappears into the darkness.

She returns a few seconds later and nods, holding her hand out to him. He climbs up after her, swallowed by the blackness inside the cavernous metal trailer.

It's probably the least classy way he's ever traveled, but he can't really complain because she's there, they're safe, and they're on their way.


	12. Vows

.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**  
Vows

* * *

Castle pulls the metal door shut behind them. It's pitch black and silent except for the sounds Kate's boots make as she rustles around. He reaches towards her, fingers twitching through empty space.

"Damn," he says. "I should have asked my dad for a flashlight."

Kate stops moving, then clicks on the flashlight that she picked up from the precinct when she was preparing to track Castle down.

"Well, aren't you a little Girl Scout, Miss Beckett."

Kate shrugs. "Thought it might come in handy. Let's see what's in here."

The trailer is about three-quarters full of cardboard boxes, secured with wide woven straps that are fastened to metal rails on the walls. It looks like a giant 3D Tetris game, and there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason behind why some columns are higher than others.

Kate props herself up against the wall and then slides down.

"Well, I guess now we just wait. Our driver will probably be waking up soon; he'll want to get on the road just before dawn. We'll use the GPS to make sure he's going the right way after we get through Manhattan."

She pats the floor beside her and he sits down, pressing his arm against hers. It's warm; the summer heat has barely dissipated since sundown. The air in the trailer is thick and smells of cardboard, but Castle isn't too hot to appreciate how his fiancée's soft heat presses against him from shoulder to elbow.

Her face glows with reflected light as she bounces the flashlight beam jerkily up to the ceiling and into every corner, taking inventory of their surroundings.

He's watching her carefully, so he doesn't miss it when she blinks three times in quick succession. He knows her tells. She's exhausted, maybe on the verge of passing out, and the blinking is one of her tricks to keep herself awake.

"Kate."

"Yeah."

"You need to sleep."

"I'm okay, Castle."

"You're not. I'm guessing you haven't slept since you woke up nearly twenty-four hours ago. And if you were as excited as I was, I'm guessing what little sleep you did get before what was supposed to be our wedding day wasn't great."

Castle pries the flashlight from her hand and waves it around. Near the door, there's a pile of filthy packing blankets. He hops to his feet and starts looking through the stack. He finds the cleanest blanket, a bright orange one with zig-zag quilting, and spreads it on top of the others.

"Castle, what are you doing?" she asks tiredly.

"I'm making you a bed. Come here."

Beckett pulls herself to her feet without a trace of her usual alacrity and allows Castle to help her down onto the bed. It's only a foot off the ground and it smells like moldy paint, but when she sinks onto it, her body just melts. It's divine.

He crouches next to her and brushes one soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, but when he presses his palms on his knees in preparation to stand, she reaches for him.

"Lie with me?"

"Sure. It's probably not a good idea for us both to pass out, but I've actually had a lot of sleep today," he says, rubbing the red mark on his neck, "so I don't think there's any danger of me falling asleep."

He lies down next to her and she rolls him onto his side so he has a clear line of vision to the door. She presses herself against his back, curving around him, her knees bent at exactly the same angle as his. It doesn't happen often, but he likes being the little spoon.

And even though he's the one being held, he still feels like he's keeping her safe, her slim body pressed between the cool metal behind her and the warm, solid mass of him in front. He covers the hand that rests at his waist with his own and feels her body relax, going limp as she drops off to sleep.

* * *

Kate wakes when sunlight starts creeping in from the gaps between the hinges on the trailer door. The floor rattles violently and the boxes are groaning in protest, shifting against one another as the truck turns and accelerates. It's a little disconcerting, and she props herself up on her makeshift bed, instinctually leaning away from the towering stacks.

"Morning," Castle smiles. He's got her socked feet in his lap. Sweet man. She slept so hard she didn't even feel him taking off her boots.

"Hey. Where are we?"

"I checked the GPS about fifteen minutes ago, and it looks like we're heading up Highway Seventeen. We'll need to check again soon to make sure he gets on Eighty-Seven, but I'm think we lucked out and picked exactly the right truck."

"Good." She tries to swallow but her mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton balls. "What have you been doing?"

"Not much. Just thinking. I was actually about to go through our stuff," he says, pulling their two black nylon bags towards him and loosening the drawstrings. "I think I was still in shock when we were on my dad's boat. Looking through our inventory was the last thing on my mind."

Kate pulls herself up fully and sits beside him, leaving enough space between them to lay out their things. He pulls out two boxes of bullets, a small first aid kit, spare boxers, and a utility knife, laying them neatly on the bed. When he pulls out their passports, a thin white square of paper falls to the floor.

Castle picks it up, squinting as he tries to read in the dim light.

"What's that?" Kate asks.

"I think it's a note from my dad. Pass me the flashlight."

She does, and when she starts to lean back, he puts his hand on her knee. It's his way of asking for emotional backup, and she responds immediately, clearing the items out from between them and sidling closer to him, propping her chin on his shoulder so she can read the note too.

_Rick,  
__My gift to you.  
__I know it's not much.  
__Think of it as a late birthday present.  
__- J.P._

"J.P.?" Kate asks.

"I think those might be his real initials. So I guess my name is actually Richard P."

"Hmm."

"Yeah, I don't like it either."

She nods. The name Castle suits him, better than Rodgers, and certainly better than anything that might start with a P.

"I wonder what he means. What gift is he talking about?"

"The note fell out of your passport, right?"

Castle picks it up and spreads the stiff pages open to look at the photo. He doesn't know why he didn't expect the fake ID to have a fake name. All of this is still unreal, and his brain, normally so quick, is just not keeping up.

"I guess this means I'm going to be Richard Bailey for the next few months."

Kate fishes around in her bag and draws out her own passport.

"And I am … Katelynn Bailey."

"Oh, very 'pun'ny, dad. A bailey is part of a castle," he explains. "It's actually one of the names I considered when I was picking my pseudonym. A little disappointing for a birthday gift, if you ask me."

"At least we don't have to call each other strange names. You can still call me Kate. I'll have to cut down on the calling you Castle, though." She thumbs through the other empty pages in the passport, searching for something that could be considered a present. Suddenly it dawns on her.

"I don't think 'Bailey' is the gift, Castle." She looks at him, and even in the shadows, her eyes shine. "He gave us the same last name."

"Well, that's ironic," Castle says grumpily.

It throws her off, because the thought of them having the same last name is a little bit thrilling to her, and she thought he'd like it. Hell, she thought he'd love it.

"I know it's a bit trope-y, but before we got together, I used to daydream about us going undercover as a married couple," he continues. "I even wrote some scenes about it for Nikki and Rook. And now, when we should actually be married _for real_, all we have are fake last names in fake passports, starting a fake life."

"Hey," she soothes, "our names might be fake, but our life isn't."

Castle doesn't brighten. Kate slides off the stack of blankets and kneels in front of him, smoothing her palms over his cheeks and ears.

"What makes people married, Castle?"

"A wedding," he sulks, voice low and bitter.

"Legally, I mean. What makes them married?"

"Uh … government records," he says slowly. "Joint financial accounts. The same last name."

"Castle," she whispers, "I think we did get married today after all, thanks to your dad. With these IDs, we have the same legal rights we'd have as a married couple. You can't testify against me in a court of law. We can file taxes jointly."

"Gosh, you make it sound so romantic," he says, but he's starting to perk up.

"We're married, Castle," she breathes, stealing a quick kiss that he doesn't let end.

"I wanted the ceremony," he whispers. "I wanted to see you in a white dress."

"I know, Castle. I wanted it too. I wanted to finally give you your wedding ring. Mostly so you'd be less of a chick magnet," she teases.

"Not sure the ring would have helped that much," he says, yelping when she twists his ear.

He catches her hand when she releases him, twisting the rings that she's still wearing.

"You can give me my ring now, if you want."

"Yeah?" she smiles.

"Yeah. But I'm gonna need to hear your vows first.

"Uh, really? Here?"

"Why not? I'll even give you the uncut version of mine."

"Oh?"

"First draft was pretty salacious. So. Deal?"

"Deal."

And there, in the back of an eighteen wheeler, kneeling on dusty packing quilts, Castle and Beckett smile at each other the way they would have smiled after her walk up the grass-green aisle at their home in the Hamptons.

They're grinning like fools.

She goes first, because that's how it was supposed to be yesterday. She pulls his ring off her thumb, poised to slide it on his fourth finger once she's made her promises.

Other women might be embarrassed, but Kate plunges right into her memorized speech. It's one of the million things he loves about her, that once she's decided something, she's all in. So she looks up at him without an ounce of shyness and starts to speak.

"Rick. With this ring, I vow to be by your side from this moment on. To be your backup whenever you need it, and sometimes when you think you don't."

They're really doing this. Castle's eyes start to water and his grip on her tightens. She was nervous about saying these words in front of everyone, but here, with just him, it's easy.

"I promise to be open with you, to give you even the darkest parts of myself, because I've spent too many years hiding from you already. I promise to never let us be boring, and to blow your ..." she lifts one perfect suggestive eyebrow, "mind as often as I can. And I'll only arrest you if you really, really deserve it.

"I promise to give you my life, my love, my heart and my soul. I will spend forever trying to be worthy of your love and respect. Because, Richard Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle, it is your heart that moves me, and your hand I want to hold until the end."

She's so proud of the words she came up with. It's his forte, not hers, but she can tell immediately that he thinks her vows are perfect. Castle is absolutely beaming as she slides the platinum band onto his finger. He tries to kiss her but she _ah-ah-ahs_ him and presses her plain wedding band into his palm.

"Your turn."

"Katherine Beckett," he starts. "Oh, Katherine Beckett." He takes a shaky breath. "Give me a minute." He still can't believe they're here, that he finally got the girl, that she's giving all of herself to him, every day.

"Kate. I promise to spend the rest of my days in the simple pursuit of making you split open with joy. I promise to be your shelter when things get rough, to always give you a safe place to come back to when you're ready to take a break from saving the world. Because you are my favorite superhero.

"I promise to treasure you and annoy you, follow you loyally and incessantly, 'shake hands' every chance I get, and love you wholly and unconditionally, every day for the rest of our lives. I promise to keep growing up for you. To be a better man for you."

"Don't grow up too much, okay?" she whispers shyly, reluctant to interrupt. She wants him to know that she loves him unconditionally as well.

"Which brings me to my next vow; I promise to not grow up too much, and to make your job and our life 'a little more fun'. I promise to never let us get boring, to make you fall apart on every flat surface in every home we own together (and some of the curved surfaces too), and to keep trying to get you to like s'morelettes.

He's saving the best for last, she knows it. She holds her breath.

"Kate. May you always feel deeply loved, because you are."

He slides her ring on until the metal clinks against the diamonds that are already at home there.

"I love you," she breathes.

"I love you."

They press their foreheads together, running their thumbs over one another's damp cheeks.

Castle straightens, realizing that there's one more thing they need to do. He puts on a resonant, formal voice.

"So, Katherine Houghton Beckett, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," she laughs. "And do you, Richard Castle, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do. Now then. Can we make out?"

"Be disappointed if we didn't - _oof_!"

He tosses her backwards onto the mattress and crawls over her, kissing her like he wants to crawl inside her skin.

When they finally part, Castle gets a little gleam in his eye.

"Shall we celebrate, Mrs. Castle?"

"As much as I want celebrate with you, I'm not sure I want to consummate our marriage in the back of a semi," she laughs.

"Who said anything about consummating? Get your mind out of the gutter." He leaps up and starts towards the cardboard boxes. "When you were asleep I did a little reconnaissance. Thought it might be useful to know what we're riding with.

He pulls one of the boxes down. He tears off the clear packing tape and reaches inside.

"It's not chilled, but it's champagne," he says, holding up a bottle triumphantly. He plops back down next to her and rips through the foil, grabbing the cork and twisting it expertly. It comes out with a soft pop and whoosh. There's no thin curl of cool smoke, but she's just as caught up in the moment as he is, and she's not going to deny him a little bit of tradition.

He holds the bottle up. "To us. And to Rick and Katelynn Bailey." He hands it to her and she takes a swig.

"To us." It's bubblier than cold champagne, and sweeter, but it still fizzes like hope on her tongue.

"When we get home, I'll crack open the bottle of Krug Clos de Mesnil I had stashed for our wedding night. It cost me seven hundred dollars, but it's amazing."

"Seven hundred dollars for a bottle of champagne? I think I see a couple's finance counseling course in our future," she teases.

"Just want the best for my wife."

"In that case, it's perfect, Castle. Rick. I can't wait to drink that bottle of absurdly expensive champagne with you."

A few sips later, they put the bottle of cheap, warm champagne back in its box so it doesn't spill and settle back against the wall.

"Can't wait to get to this cabin," she sighs. "I need a bath. How long will it take us to get to Malone?"

"I don't think you want to know."

"Come on, I can take it."

"Okay. Six hours, assuming this truck is going there, but it's probably headed for Montreal, so we're going to have to hop off at some point."

"Right. Okay, six hours. At least I don't have to stand still. Why don't you get some sleep, just in case? I'll keep watch."

She scoots back to sit in the corner and pulls Castle towards her, letting him lie against her, both facing the door. The weight of his back presses into her body, and his head feels so solid and heavy against her breast that she has to breathe more shallowly. He hums contentedly, and she knows she'll let him stay there, even if it makes her back sore where she's wedged into the angle between the two walls. She rests one arm across his collarbone, high enough to avoid his burns, and presses her lips to his head.

She's starting to feel the beginnings of a gnawing hunger, and the pinching sort of headache that settles at the base of her skull when she hasn't had any caffeine. She tries to ignore them, for now, but they're going to need water or food soon. For now, she'll let him sleep, content to just watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.


	13. Traveling Circus

.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**  
Traveling Circus

* * *

They've found a way to forget about their hunger.

Castle combs his fingers through the heavy silk strands of Kate's hair. He presses in circles over her scalp before sweeping down to the curve at the top of her spine.

It feels so amazing that the GPS device slips out of her hands and lands screen-side down in her lap.

She'd woken him up with _her_ hands in _his_ hair, and once he'd climbed out of the blissful semi-coma she'd put him in with her magical fingers, he asked if he could return the favor. Since sex was off the table, she wasn't about to say no to a head-gasm.

And _oh_, his hands feel stunning. Apparently she's not the only one who can dish out hedonistic pleasure. A week before Valentine's Day this year she'd crept into his office and booted up his laptop to watch half a dozen YouTube videos on Ayurvedic head massage. Of course, it was only part of her gift to him. Even though she wasn't sure she'd ever outdo the drawer, she never wanted to stop trying.

He must have found the video that she'd watched in his browser history because the massage he's giving her now is textbook perfect.

Suddenly, the truck starts decelerating, and Kate's eyes pop open. Her hands scramble in her lap for the GPS, only to find the words 'Lost Satellite Reception' obstructing the map.

"Oh no, now is not the time to be uncooperative." She scowls at it and gives it a smack on the side for good measure.

"Hey, don't hit the poor thing, it's doing it's best." Castle gets to his feet and grabs their bags. "How close were we to the intersection of Eighty-Seven and One-Ninety when you last checked?"

"I thought we'd have another half an hour. I don't know, though, could our driver just be stopping for gas?"

"He wouldn't stop here if he had to exit in half an hour anyway; I'm sure there's a station at the junction of the two highways. He's probably refueling now to get him across the border. If that's the case, we need to get off. Now."

Castle heads for the door, cracking it open just slightly so he can check for cars behind them. The bright midday sun gives him a flare of retina burn, a physical ache behind his eyes.

The truck continues to slow, and even at half the speed they've been traveling, the yellow lines passing below him make him dizzy. They can't just jump out of the back of the truck in full view of other vehicles, so they'll have to wait until it's clear. The road is mostly empty, save for a junky blue Saturn about a quarter of a mile behind him.

"Kate? Are you ready? We need to jump if this Saturn overtakes,"

Kate nods, scrambling to tidy up the stack of blankets. They don't really want anyone knowing they were there. She'd wiped the champagne bottle, but if someone knew where to look, they'd find DNA or fingerprint evidence of their hitchhiking. It'd be better if no one had even the slightest idea that they were on the truck.

"Okay, the car has changed lanes, and it's speeding up to pass our truck," Castle yells over the roar of the road. Everything seems so loud after being inside the trailer for hours. The semi continues to decelerate, groaning and creaking as it does.

Castle opens the door and steps onto the ledge of the high metal bumper. The truck is only going about twenty miles an hour now, and although he's always wanted to do this, he's nervous.

Kate squeezes his shoulder. "Don't break anything, Castle. Roll when you hit the ground."

He nods, sucks in a breath, and jumps, aiming for the soft grassy shoulder. He tucks his chin down and crosses his arms over his chest so he can't break the fall with something so fragile as a wrist. The last thing he needs is a broken arm and a trip to the ER in full view of surveillance cameras and ID checks.

The fall is intense, and it feels like he might never stop tumbling. Now he knows what it's like to be a sopping wet towel in a dryer. When he finally stops moving, he spits out a mouthful of grass, raises his head, and squints.

Kate is a few yards away, sprawled on the ground and coughing heartily. He's glad he didn't have to watch her fling herself from the truck. His heart does funny things when she's in danger.

"You okay?" he calls.

"Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me. You got any broken bones?"

"No, I don't think so."

"That was a pretty nice roll, Castle. Someone might think you'd had training." She's on her back, looking up at the wide sky instead of him, and he loves the way he can hear her smile in her voice.

"Yeah, that writer research pays off sometimes."

"Stay low until you've caught your breath, then we can head for the trees."

He obliges, stretching out on his back on the grass. He's going to be sore as hell tomorrow. The thick line of pines isn't far away, but he just doesn't have the energy to pull himself up yet.

The grass starts to tickle him behind the ears - or maybe it's the multiple prickly legs of phantom insects - so when she asks a few minutes later if he's ready to make for the trees, he happily agrees. He's always been a city boy, and as much as he loves the _idea_ of camping, he'll pass on some of the less savory details like bugs crawling up his nose at night. He staggers to his feet and limps away from the road. Nothing's broken, but his muscles are all out of place. His bones feel like they're tied together with rusted wire instead of nice juicy cartilage.

He watches Kate, and even though she's not moving as quickly as she usually does, she looks a hell of a lot better than he feels. He doesn't want to remind himself that he has ten years on her, not to mention a pathetic fraction of her accumulated gym hours.

They dip into the shade of the tall pine trees lining the side of the highway and start to check each other over. Once Kate's satisfied that Castle's not in worse shape than he was before he jumped, she pulls the GPS device out from her bra.

"Um," Castle stutters.

"What? I had to make sure it didn't get broken, otherwise we'd have no clue where we were going."

"So you thought the best place to keep it would be in your bra?"

"Kept other things pretty safe in there before, Castle."

He gasps excitedly. "Is that where your badge was when we went to that ballet gala? Because I could have sworn - " he claps his hand over his own mouth. "Never mind, I'm not going to finish that sentence."

"Yeah, that's probably for the best."

She remembers everything. That case, that red carpet-worthy burgundy dress, and yes, she remembers where she kept the badge.

There'd been a moment when she'd leaned over one of the low buffet tables to pick up a canapé and felt a sheet of cool air ease down her chest. She thought for sure she'd used enough double-stick tape to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions, but one look at Castle and she knew he'd gotten an eyeful. He was trying his hardest to look nonchalant, gaze fixed on a speck on the ceiling, and his lips were smushed together like he was trying very hard not to say something. So he most definitely knew that the badge wasn't in her bra. Because there was no bra.

"Lost in thought, Detective?" his voice cracks into her memory like a spoon through the top of a creme brûlée.

Kate's cheeks flush at the seductive lilt to his voice. It's ridiculous how she's still embarrassed by how he affected her in the past. There's literally not a millimeter of her flesh that he hasn't seen, so how can the memory of him catching a glimpse of dark pink skin draw such an intense blood-red blush?

She shoves the GPS at him and narrows her eyes. "Just figure out where we are, okay?" She starts walking, long purposeful strides to put a little distance between them. She needs to get herself under control. Otherwise there's a good chance she'll knock him down onto the pine needle blanket of the ground so she can straddle him. The timing is a little inconvenient, being on the run and all.

Castle doesn't seem to be quite as affected, or he'd be the one pulling her down to the ground. Instead, he starts stabbing at the screen and replies chirpily, "Yes, wife."

Unable to quell the grin blooming on her face, she slows down to let him catch up. Her husband.

A few minutes later, the GPS device's stilted digital female voice instructs them to '_continue straight_'.

"You were right," Castle says. "We're still about twenty miles from the road that leads to Malone."

Her heart sinks. Twenty miles is nothing for a vehicle, but on foot it will take them at least six hours, and they haven't eaten anything in almost twelve.

"And we're going to need food," he adds, like he's in her head.

"Yeah."

Kate works back towards the road and peeks out of the trees to read the enormous green sign indicating the next exit.

"That must be the exit our truck was slowing down for," she says.

"Should we head for it and hope that it has a gas station with no cameras?"

"Sounds good."

He doesn't mention that they look incredibly suspicious. That their clothes are riddled with rips and covered with dirt and grass. That Kate's hair is a complete disaster. He almost laughs, because it's littered with so many dry yellow sticks of dead grass that it looks like she actually _has_ been for a roll in the hay.

She must notice the quirk at the corner of his mouth because she snaps out a grumpy "What?"

"Nothing."

"Castle, don't make me come over there," she threatens, even though he's walking right next to her.

"You're gorgeous, that's all."

"Stop swooning and focus, please." But she's radiant and he knows by the bounce in her step that she loves his attention.

He wonders if anyone's ever gone on the run with such a perfect companion.

* * *

The gas station has several security cameras. Beckett isn't surprised; the twenty-four hour ones usually do, even if they are in the middle of nowhere.

There's not really any way that they can get into the store unseen, and if they have cameras outside, they're bound to have ones inside. They're only yards away from gloriously cold bottles of Coke dripping with condensation and loud crinkly bags of Cheetos, but they can't have any of them. The disappointment tastes like ash and makes her stomach growl in protest.

"Kate - look." Castle points to a little nylon shade tent at the corner of the lot.

Underneath is a table covered with crates of colorful fruits and vegetables, and a wheelbarrow stocked with dozens of small potted plants.

"Bingo," Kate breathes, her face relaxing from the tense, desperate I'd-kill-for-a-Twinkie expression. "You know, for all the bad luck we had yesterday, I think we're making up for it today."

"Noooo," Castle groans. "Don't you know not to talk about good luck if you're having it?"

Kate rolls her eyes.

"Oh, right. You don't believe in luck. I'll just have to buy some extra rabbit feet and hope that Lady Luck allows luck donations."

Kate's already moved on to planning strategy. "Take off your hoodie, Castle. We'll attract less attention."

Castle obliges, glad that his dad's loose black T-shirt doesn't cling and reveal the bandages strapped around his chest. He's still wearing his tux pants because Hunt's trousers had been too short. He sets to work beating the dust from them.

Kate does the same, and then she reaches up to smooth her hair. She pauses almost as soon as she starts.

"Castle. Why didn't you tell me I had tons of grass in my hair?" she demands.

"You were cute."

She glares.

"Are cute?"

She tilts her chin down, still glowering.

"Not cute. Beautiful?"

"Better." She rolls her eyes. "Just act normal, okay?"

They set out for the produce stand, choosing a route that avoids the cameras but also doesn't look like they're consciously trying to skirt them. He feels like a paranoid shrew scampering across the desert at high noon, jumping at every shadow, hoping he doesn't see one that's hawk-shaped.

Finally, they slide into the shade of the tent. The woman behind the table has healthy cheeks and a wholesome, kind face, free of makeup. There's a silver cross on her necklace and matching silver cross earrings, and her clothes are covered with a striped green apron.

"Hi folks, welcome to the stand." She hands Castle a paper bag and tells him to pick whatever they want. "I can recommend the carrots and broccoli - I grew them myself," she adds with a beaming smile.

Castle tries not to make eye contact as he takes the bag. He doesn't want anyone to recognize him, although Kate would tell him there's not much danger of that. But the bigger problem is that they are, in his opinion, an extremely handsome couple, and people just tend to start jabbering at them. Must be Kate's luminescent smile, or the way she makes people feel like they're the only person in the world when she's talking to them. He knows the feeling; he still has a hard time shutting up around her.

Kate starts loading the bag with produce. He'd kill for a baked potato. Piping hot, loaded with butter and cheese and more butter and bacon bits … he shakes himself and swallows the drool gathering in his mouth. They have to stick to things that can be eaten raw, and she's wisely selecting carrots, bananas, and avocados.

Sure enough, Vegetable Lady can't keep quiet for long. "Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking? I like to hear about where people are coming from. It's why I set the stand up so close to the highway. Well, that, and I get a lot more business from travelers than I do from the three hundred people that live in my town."

"We're from Vermont," Kate answers smoothly.

"Our car broke down," Castle adds. "We're just waiting for Triple-A to come bail us out and we thought we'd take a walk, see where we are. We're celebrating our five year wedding anniversary," he beams.

Kate smiles and nods, but digs her elbow into his side. They could have just left it at Vermont, but he had to go and expand on their backstory. He'd be horrific if he ever landed on the other side of the interrogation table.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about your car, but congratulations on your anniversary," the woman says.

"Thank you," Kate replies. "I think we've got everything we need, how much will it be?"

She freezes.

_Shit._

Castle's going to have to rummage through the bags to get to the money, and she's fairly sure it's still rolled up in a gangster bundle.

But he smoothly draws a twenty from his trouser pocket and hands it to the woman, thrilling a little when Beckett looks at him with an impressed glow.

They thank the vendor and head back the way they came, back towards their 'broken down car'.

Kate thinks she can smell the carrots right through the paper bag tucked under her arm. It's ridiculous, because carrots hardly smell at all, but she's ravenous. As soon as they reach the shelter of the trees they plop to the ground and spread their fare out, shoving in mouthful after mouthful.

Kate takes another look at the GPS as she devours her second banana, her graceful fingers tapping and sliding all over upstate New York.

"Castle, I think these are train tracks," she says, pointing to a light grey line running not far from where they are on the map.

"And they pass through Malone," Castle finishes.

"Still a hike. Might take us an hour to get to the train, but it's probably our best bet."

"What are we waiting for? I've always wanted to stow away on a train."

* * *

It's late afternoon by the time they find the tracks. Castle's calves ache from stumbling through the forest, and he's grateful for the level, clipped grass on either side of the rails. The striking Adirondack mountains roll high in the background, and he and Kate start walking northwest parallel to the tracks.

They walk until the sun dips below the peak of the nearest mountain, throwing them into shadow. He's about to give up when the rails finally start to vibrate.

Kate eyes the approaching train, tugging Castle backwards into the forest. The conductor won't notice them hidden in the thick veil of branches and leaves.

"Tell me when to run," Castle says as the roar draws nearer. She's got the better vantage, so he'll let her make the call. He flexes his toes, ready to sprint as soon as the engine passes so the conductor won't see them. They can jump onto one of the cars at the back.

Kate covers his hand with hers.

"Castle, it's going too fast."

"What? This is the only one we've seen and we've been walking for hours!"

"This isn't the movies. I'm not letting you get squashed under a train, okay? We'll wait until a slower one comes, or until we get to a load station."

And then the train is on them. A thick wall of pressure slaps them as it passes.

Castle watches car after car clack by. It's terrifying, being so close to something so fast and powerful. He wants to tell her she's right, that trying to get on _that_ would have killed them, but she wouldn't be able to hear him anyway over the rhythmic clack and drone of the freight train.

It leaves an eerie silence in its wake, their ears cottoned by the roar.

Beckett pulls out two carrots and offers one to Castle. She wishes they'd bought one of the massive watermelons lounging beneath the produce lady's table, but it would have been ridiculous to carry. Their healthy little rabbit snacks aren't even putting a dent in her thirst.

Castle bites off the hard brown stem of his carrot and spits it into the grass.

"Not the best way to spend our honeymoon, eh Beckett?" He's trying to laugh it off, but she knows he's still upset that he dragged her into this escapade.

"Look on the bright side, Castle. At least you didn't get a hit put on you in the middle of January. It's a little warm, I admit, but we're not going to die. Last thing we need is a repeat of the hypothermia incident."

"True," he says.

A low echo rumbles through the valley. It can't be another train, not so soon. And if it is, surely it's coming from the opposite direction.

But it is a train, and it's coming from behind them.

"Second time's a charm?"

They plaster themselves up against trees again, and this time when the engine passes, Kate tugs him out by the wrist. They start jogging next to the train, and even though it's chugging gently along, Castle starts to wheeze.

Car after car swans past, some of them shiny and new, some rusted and flaking. A rainbow of logos rolls beside them, bright yellow Union Pacifics and vivid blue Hanjins, some covered in graffiti and others decorated with commissioned murals of waving American flags.

"That one!" Kate shouts, pointing to a maroon boxcar with a thin black gap showing between its hulking metal sliding panels.

She positions herself a few yards ahead of the ladder on the back of the car and matches the speed of the train before launching herself up, fingers curling tight around the rungs. Castle watches, ready to catch her, ready to break her fall if she doesn't manage to grab on. But she does. One boot dangles close to the wheels, and he almost pukes when his imagination starts turning the wheels faster than they're really turning.

She climbs to the top of the ladder to give him room to jump on. He's got a wicked side stitch and he won't last much longer, so he pushes off the ground to join his wife. He surprises himself when he makes the jump easily.

Kate disappears up the ladder onto the flat top of the boxcar and he gives himself a pep talk to pry his hands from one rung and set them on the next. The lack of oxygen makes his arms feel weak, and if he doesn't get to the top soon, muscle failure is going to win out.

He pulls himself onto the roof and sees her crawling towards the middle of the car. He elects to go commando style. She looks back and smirks.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a long way down!" he squeaks. "I'm going commando."

"Oh really?"

"Crawling, Mrs. Bailey. Commando crawling. Well, I never," he clucks.

When he catches up with her above the boxcar door, she grabs his arm high up by his elbow, locking their arms sturdily together. She drops one leg over the side of the car and pushes her foot against the heavy metal door. He hangs on for dear life. It's not a fatal fall, really, but he's seen Kate jump from one too many vehicles today already. The thought of any part of her being crushed between the sharp metal wheels and the unforgiving rail would be hell to witness.

She finally gets the door open wide enough for them to get through.

"Kay," she pants. "I'm going to scoot backwards over the side. Hold onto me until I tell you to drop me."

"Wait. Do you think we should check what's inside first? I mean, there could be a tiger in there."

"This isn't the twenties, Castle. No more traveling circuses."

"I'll have you know RBBX still travels by train."

"RBBX?"

"Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey."

"Of course you would know that. Let's get inside, Castle," she says.

He holds onto her tighter than she'd probably like, and wonders if she's thinking about the other roof she dangled from.

"Okay, there's enough room for me to drop. You can let go,"

It feels awful and unnatural to just let go of someone you love when they're dangling from your arms, but he grits his teeth and does it anyway. The clank of her hitting the floor reverberates throughout the metal box.

"You comin', Castle?"

He lays on his belly and slides backwards over the edge until his feet dangle over the side. He keeps sliding until he bends at the waist, using all the upper body strength he has to slow his descent. He feels Kate's hands wrap around his ankles, pulling him into the car so when he lets go he'll fall inwards and not out. She lets go right when he does so he doesn't land on top of her.

He stays upright, but the shock travels up both legs and pain rips through his bad knee. It fades after a few seconds, though, and he finds her in the purple twilight spilling in from the open door.

She hugs him tightly and he scans the mostly empty car over her shoulder, his voice echoing off the metal when he gets enough wind back to speak.

"That would have been so much cooler if we'd been rapidly approaching a low tunnel. You know, for people who've never jumped a train before, I'm proud of us. Amazing what you pick up from movies, huh?"

"Who said I'd never jumped a train before?" she asks, eyebrow arched.

He kisses her hard on the mouth.

Best. Wife. Ever.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks to Shutterbug5269 for sharing some of his knowledge of Upstate New York! Any geographical mistakes are entirely mine._

_If you're following and haven't reviewed yet, I'd love to know what you think as we speed towards the end!_

_- Bri x_


	14. Home Sweet Home

_._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**  
Home Sweet Home

* * *

Castle stretches his legs out in front of him, rubbing the hard muscle of his uninjured thigh, trying to diffuse some of the tightness. It's been a long time since he got so much exercise, and jumping off a truck didn't help. There's no soft stack of blankets here in the train like there was in the back of the semi, but it's probably for the best. Their cabin is probably less than an hour away and he doesn't want to fall asleep and miss their exit.

Kate won't sit down, probably for the same reason. She walks the length of the empty boxcar as it rattles down the tracks, bouncing on the balls of her feet before turning and walking to the other end, over and over.

"Remind me to buy one of these when we get home and park it outside your dad's cabin," Castle says.

"What, a rusty old boxcar?"

"Yeah. It's awesome! Didn't you read the Boxcar Children books? Think of how much fun our kids would have with this."

She smiles, still in awe of how every now and then he tosses out a reference to their future children with such casual ease. She does it too. Ever since they babysat Cosmo, which had led to that epic confession in the dumpster, the future has been steadily pulling into focus.

She wants to have kids with Castle, and he wants to have kids with her. It's going to happen. They just don't know when. Kind of like the inevitability of their first kiss, and then of them sleeping together, and then getting married. Their tracks were always destined to run parallel. And that's why it wasn't hard to make the choice to come with him.

"Come sit down," Castle says, his voice rasping gently into her thoughts.

"I'm afraid I'll fall asleep."

"So fall asleep. I'm here."

Kate sinks down next to him but stays upright, even though the comfort she'd find by laying her head in his lap is nearly irresistible. As much as she wants to sleep, she wants to wait until they get to their cabin and can crawl into a bed.

Castle drapes his arm around her shoulders and she wiggles to settle against his side. Her arm falls onto his thigh, and he uses his free hand to seek out hers.

"Thank you for coming with me," he whispers.

"It's what partners do."

"I wouldn't have made it this far by myself, you know."

"Hey. You would have been fine, Castle. But I'm glad we're in this together."

She tilts her head up to look at him and he drops a kiss to her lips. They share a smile, eyes clear and open with mutual gratitude, then they drop their heads back against the ridged metal wall.

"Do you think this cabin is furnished? It had better be furnished," Castle sighs.

God, she hopes so. She has no idea what to expect, really. A cabin in the woods isn't usually where WITSEC sends people - usually they're sent to towering apartment complexes in bustling cities where they can be as anonymous as anyone can get. Someone living in a cabin outside a small town invites questions from the locals and makes building friendships, or at least acquaintances, inevitable.

She's got a picture of her dad's cabin in mind, and wonders if their new home will be anything like that. As long as it has a bathtub and hot water she couldn't care less. And a bed. They definitely need a bed.

Her eyes start to drift closed, covering the top half of her vision with a band of black. She'll just close her eyes for a second, then get up and start pacing again.

* * *

"We're here, Beckett."

"Mmm?"

"We're close. Cabin is a few miles away. We're going to have to get off soon."

Kate pulls her sleep-hot cheek off of Castle's upper arm and blinks. It's almost dark outside, and the corners of their boxcar are shrouded in black shadows.

Castle stands and brushes off the seat of his pants, then extends his hand to help her up. He collects their bags and she stretches, still groggy and heavy from an unfinished nap. She shouldn't have fallen asleep. It's weird, how a day of just sitting completely exhausts her. She can work cases on less than three hours of sleep a night and last for days, but traveling turns her into a drooling nap monster. Her ability to stay wired and alert when she's working cases probably has something to do with the steady drip of coffee her partner provides. And the occasional candy bar.

"What's the plan, oh train hopper extraordinaire?" Castle asks. "Do we just jump out?"

Kate slides the heavy metal door open. "It's not as high as the back of the eighteen wheeler, and luckily this isn't the fastest train, so we should be fine to just jump."

A warm, peaceful breeze blows in, and for a moment, Castle just stares at his wife's silhouette. She's so lean and graceful. If he lets the stardust of his imagination swirl around her, he can almost see her in a sequined leotard and a bedazzled top hat perched on top of her head. Her hair falls in perfect chocolate and caramel curls, and her lips are shocking 1940's red. He wonders what part she'd play in The Greatest Show on Earth. It would have to be something that shows off her legs, because she has fantastic circus legs. They'd look amazing in vintage silk stockings, the kind with the seam up the back.

"You know, you'd make an amazing tightrope walker," he says. "I almost wish we weren't cops so - "

"_We _aren't cops."

"Semantics. I wish we weren't cops so we could join the circus. I'd love to run away with you and join a circus."

"Oh really? And what would you be?"

"Strongman. Duh."

She laughs, a cascade of bright joy.

"Because you're so very manly and have impossibly broad shoulders?" The light sheen of sarcasm is just a cover, because he knows for a fact that she adores his shoulders.

"Yes, but also because it's highly likely the tightrope walker would be sleeping with the Strongman."

"I dunno, Castle, maybe I wouldn't be a tightrope walker. I mean, I am pretty good at snake charming…" she drags her nails over his hipbone, scraping over the metal teeth of his fly.

"You are completely evil. Now get off this train and let's get to that frickin' cabin."

Kate smiles and checks the GPS, memorizing their position and making sure she knows which way is north.

"Ready? We're really close to the cabin. If we stay on any longer we'll have to backtrack," she says.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Kate sets the GPS on the floor of the car and kicks it gently. It slides across the floor and into the corner, where the darkness swallows it whole. Who knows where it will end up. Hopefully a few hundred miles away, just in case anyone comes looking for them.

Jumping off the train is easy compared to jumping off the semi. The train is slower, for one thing, and it has convenient handles they can use to lower themselves almost to the ground.

Kate goes first, using every ounce of her upper body strength to hold herself a few feet above the earth, then she turns sideways and starts pedaling her legs in the air.

Castle watches her hit the ground. His head whips to the side to watch her lag behind their car as she loses speed. He takes a deep breath and follows, trying to mimic her actions exactly. He hits the ground with a jolt. For one terrifying moment, Castle thinks his legs won't be able to keep up with the speed lent to him by the train, but they piston and churn almost of their own accord, beating hard into the earth until finally he slows to a stop.

They walk towards one another as the train chugs on by, car after car passing until the caboose brings up the rear. The dim lights look like orange embers as they fade away, taking the clacking noise with them and leaving only the breathy quiet of nature.

"You good?" she asks, taking his hand.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah."

She points into the thicket of trees on the north side of the train tracks. "That way to home sweet home," she says, a little uncertainly. When the summer moon reaches it's apex it should be bright, but she's worried that it will still be too dark in the forest for them to find the cabin. And she is wholly uninterested in sleeping in the middle of the woods of Upstate New York without a tent tonight.

But there's not really anything else to do, so they plunge into the shadows, feet crunching over the collection of leaves and pine needles that blanket the forest floor.

Beckett pauses to dig in her bag to find her flashlight. Every few minutes, she turns it on, sweeping it in a wide arc through the quiet maze of trees. Whenever it's clear enough to see through the canopy of leaves above, she checks the sky. She can't see the moon yet, but the stars are starting to twinkle in the purple dusk. She knows enough about astronomy to keep them heading in the right direction.

Twenty minutes later, Castle slows and then stops.

"Kate? Shouldn't we be there by now?"

"Yeah." The house was less than a mile from the tracks, and they haven't seen any sign of a clearing big enough for a house.

"Maybe we were just a little bit off on our trajectory. We probably shouldn't just keep heading north, right?"

"Okay. So, east or west? Got a coin to flip?"

Castle looks relieved that she's not asking him to split up. She can't resist the chance to rib him.

"You scared, Castle?"

"Not exactly. But who knows how many lions and tigers and bears are out there? Not to mention Bigfoot. Although, maybe he'd help us out, considering we helped solve his buddy's murder."

"Don't worry, Castle. We're sticking together. I may be a cop, but I like being alone in the woods at night about as much as the next person. So, east or west? What does your gut say?"

"My gut's saying east. We can walk for ten minutes, and if we don't see anything, we can double back and try west."

"My gut was going to say to check west first," she says.

"I trust your gut more than mine."

They set off in her direction, and within five minutes the trees start to thin.

"See? You have a much more reliable gut."

"No house yet, Castle, don't get your hopes up."

But then they pass a few tree stumps that have clearly been chopped by humans with axes, and within a few minutes, the dark gray shadow of a two-story log cabin rises from the middle of a cleared glade. There's a rusted red pickup truck parked on a weedy gravel drive, and half of the steps leading up to the house are cracked and splintery.

It looks for all the world like a haunted house.

"Oh my god." Castle squeaks. "The only thing it's missing are some shingled turrets. This is so creepy."

"Creepy or not, it's now home to Mr. and Mrs. Bailey. Let's find out if it's furnished, mm?"

Beckett strides confidently towards the front porch. She's still wearing her gun, and Castle jogs to catch up with her. Knowing her, she'll want to clear the house properly before relaxing, and he'll back her up as she strafes around the corners and kicks doors open.

Even though they have no right to have the energy to do a full sweep, their instincts won't let them skip it. As much as they want to stumble into the master bedroom and sink into whatever mattress they find, they have to check that it's not a trap.

Beckett grabs the door handle, her other hand ghosting over the glinting butt of her gun.

The door is locked. Of course.

"Uh. Castle? Did your dad say anything about a key?"

"No… it's locked? Seriously?" Castle groans. All this way and they can't even get into their dilapidated old haunted house.

"Maybe the key's hidden nearby." Beckett stretches up, running her fingers along the dusty top edge of the door frame. Castle scans the porch. He can see pretty well in the moonlight. There are two rocking chairs in front of a window, and he checks the windowsill and under the curved wooden blades of the chairs.

"See any gnomes? Or maybe those fake rock things that hold keys underneath?"

"I don't think that the sort of people who go into WITSEC are the kind of people who read SkyMall catalogues, Castle."

"No key then," he says, concluding his search of his half of the porch as she finishes hers.

"Right. How should we break into our house?"

Castle things for a moment. "This is comedy gold, you know."

"I'd rather not leave a downstairs window broken and exposed. Think you can boost me up onto the eave? Maybe one of the upstairs windows is unlocked."

"Sure."

Beckett steps gingerly up onto the porch railing, holding onto the corner support column with one arm and Castle's shoulder with the other. She curls her fingers around the edge of the roof and Castle grabs her ankles, lifting her as she pulls herself up. Bits of moss flake off the roof and fall to the ground and onto Castle's face. Beckett kicks her legs, trying to wriggle upwards out of his grasp. He lets go and her legs disappear.

"Okay, Castle," she calls, "I think we might be in luck." He hears an ungodly grating noise as she slides a window open. Wood squeaks on wood, the window frame expanded with humidity or painted over so many times it doesn't fits in its grooves.

"I'm going in. I'll check the upstairs rooms before I come downstairs. Wait for me by the front door, and if you hear anything suspicious, knock the door down."

"Right. Got it."

Castle returns to the front door, alternately between bouncing nervously and peering like a kid through the filthy glass. All he can hear from upstairs is the occasional bump and shuffle, nothing to indicate that Kate's in any trouble. Finally, her flashlight beam falls bobs down the steps. She follows, coming down the stairs like a stealthy cat. Her flashlight arm is propped above her gun, her body iron tight and prepared for anything.

She drops her guard for a split second to twist the deadbolt on the door, then swirls and points her gun back in towards the darkness, waiting for Castle to open the door himself and come in behind her.

They move through the rooms on the ground floor in silence and with practiced ease. There's not much furniture, he laments. The house is huge, and it might have once been a cosy retreat for someone with money, but the dining room that should fit an oak table fit for ten is now home to a cheap plastic patio table and three mismatched chairs. The kitchen is empty save for layer upon layer of dust. He guesses they should be grateful that whatever gangster criminal who lived here last took out the trash out before he left. Better than coming home to a stinking garbage can full of ancient rotten waste.

Out of curiosity, Castle turns the knob on the sink. It splutters to life, spitting out a few bursts of water before running clear.

"At least we have water," he whispers.

"Castle, what are you doing? Turn that off and be quiet."

He obeys and follows Beckett through the rest of the rooms on the bottom floor. There are two large living rooms linked by an arched doorway, and a lean-to that leads from the kitchen to the backyard.

Beckett holsters her gun.

"Looks clear to me. What do you want to do?"

"Let's get a drink of water and get to bed. I think I could sleep for about two days."

The kitchen cupboards are actually stocked, and they run two glasses of water from the sink. Castle downs his in seconds and looks up to find Kate's throat bobbing up and down as she chugs her own.

"You're not gonna like what you see upstairs, Castle. There are two single mattresses and a futon, all in different rooms."

He grimaces. "So no memory foam?"

"Nope. And no bamboo sheets."

Two years of sleeping on his bamboo sheets and she never wants to sleep in anything else. She asked him a few days into their relationship what the hell thread count they were because they fell in perfect super-soft ripples over her skin, cool when she was hot and warm when she was cold.

"Oh, thread count doesn't matter with bamboo," he'd answered. "They're softer than the highest cotton thread count. They're my secret weapon."

"What, for getting chicks into your bed?" she'd joked. Their relationship was still so new, and she hoped that he wouldn't detect the insecurity in her voice.

"I only bought them last week. And actually, I'm hoping they'll keep the _chick_," he says, putting emphasis on the singular noun, "in the bed."

But no matter what the linens are like, whether they're in his loft between layers of creamy softness or in her apartment tucked into her cool brushed silk, on packing blankets in the back of an eighteen wheeler or on moldy camping mattresses in a cabin in the woods, one thing will always be the same. Them.

"Let's move the two single mattresses into one room so we can sleep next to each other."

They work as quickly as they can, bodies sluggish from their drunken haze of exhaustion. Thankfully there's still electricity running to the cabin. Maybe the service provider forgot to disconnect it, or maybe the government just pays the bills even when the house is unoccupied, or maybe the cabin has its own generator out back. Castle turns on the stark bulb of the overhead light in their bedroom, but it's so glaringly bright that he switches it off immediately and moves down the hallway to turn on the bathroom light instead.

He recoils when he sees the dingy shower. It's not even a bathtub, which doesn't make sense. The house is big; there's no reason why a bathtub wouldn't fit.

"Uh, Kate?" he says, voice laced with panic.

She's there in a second. "What'd you find?"

"I don't think you're going to get that bath you wanted."

Kate peers around him and into the bathroom. "Oh, shit."

The shower is a plastic and frosted glass cubicle, maybe two feet by two feet square.

"What even is _that_?" Castle asks, bewildered.

"I saw one like that when I was studying abroad in Kiev."

They stare at the pathetic shower for a long moment. They've seen all manner of dead bodies but this makes them stop in their tracks.

Beckett shakes it off before he does.

"Come on, babe. Let's go to bed. We can lament about the shower in the morning. At least there is one," she says.

"Did you find some sheets?"

"I found some blankets in a trunk. They smell musty, but other than that they seem clean."

Castle leaves the bathroom light on and follows her into their bedroom. The room would be gorgeous if it was cleaned and furnished. Two pancake mattresses and an old steamer trunk do not equal furnished in his mind. But the walls are exposed log and there's a cosy fireplace at one end. He'd buy a plush faux-fur rug for this room, just to lay Kate down on in the middle of a crisp autumn night, fireplace crackling in front of them and her vanilla candles glowing in multitudes behind them.

"Let's go shopping tomorrow," he says as he peels off his pants. He changes his underwear and tosses Kate the other pair of clean men's boxers. She eyes the mattress warily and then slides her own trousers back on over them.

"First thing in the morning," she agrees.

They lie down facing each other and clasp their hands over the place where their mattresses meet. Kate pulls the coarse gray blanket up over them.

"Thank you."

"Don't hafta thank me," she slurs, her eyelids fluttering closed.

"I love you, Kate," he whispers, but she's already asleep, and it doesn't take him long to follow after.


	15. The Size of Sacrifice

.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**  
The Size of Sacrifice

* * *

Kate stretches, arching her sore back and blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. She's trying to get the ancient red pickup truck in their driveway to start, and she's been leaning over the engine for a large chunk of the afternoon. Castle doesn't know a thing about auto repair, and aside from bringing her the occasional glass of water, he hasn't been very helpful. She thinks she's got it now, though.

Castle comes up behind her and smoothes one palm over the small of her back.

"It is so hot that you know how to fix cars," he says.

He lets his hand drift a bit lower, and she tosses him a quick glare before going back to the frustrating task of replacing the last uncooperative screw with the stupidly long screwdriver she'd found in the truck bed. Castle kisses her shoulder and backs off obediently, a sure sign that he's as hungry as she is. They'd eaten the last of their carrots an hour ago, and if they want more food, they need to get this truck going. There's no way in hell he's walking another step after yesterday's trekking. Not to mention all the jumping on and off of moving vehicles.

They slept for fourteen hours straight and he still doesn't feel rested. And he is so incredibly sore. Everywhere. He didn't know he had muscles in his toes and armpits, but apparently he does, because they hurt like a bitch. He feels like a guitar that's been strung way too tight.

Kate slams the hood down and climbs into the driver's seat. After a few wheezy grinds, the engine finally turns over. Castle whoops and jumps into the cab, and she blooms with a smile filled with so much childish glee that he just stares at her like a goon.

They set off immediately, bouncing along with only a vague idea of how to get to Malone. Kate grips the steering wheel with both hands, absorbing the vibrations, brow furrowed in concentration. It gives him an excuse to stare at her some more. Her hair is still wet from the shower and it's starting to curl, and the afternoon sun filters through the trees, flickering over her bare wrists and the sharp angles of her cheeks. A hard bubble of gratitude rises in his chest. He takes a deep breath and swallows down the sentiment before he does something idiotic. Because he would really like to make her pull over so he can thank her in a sloppy jumble of sappy-sweet words.

A few minutes later, he flips the sun visor down to check his own hair. He groans at the sight. His coif just doesn't look the same without his boutique apple-scented pomade. He snaps the visor closed and the damn thing falls off into his lap. Kate glances over at him. The corners of her mouth quirk up, but she wisely doesn't say anything. He shoves the broken visor down between his seat and the door, grumbling like an old man.

After taking a few wild guesses at the intersections they come to, they start seeing other cars. They eventually find themselves on the road leading into Malone from the west. Clusters of weathered marquees rise from both sides of the road, advertising a rainbow of familiar chain-store logos.

"Ooo look, Beckett, a Walmart!"

"We can't go to Walmart, Castle."

"Why not?" he whines. "They'll have everything we need."

"They also have video cameras. Everywhere. And that is the last thing we need."

Castle heaves a sigh as their truck trundles past.

"In fact," Beckett says as they pass a Pizza Hut and a McDonald's, "I think we need to turn around. I had no idea Malone was this big."

She pulls a tight U-turn at the next set of traffic lights. Castle looks longingly in the rearview mirror as they head away from town. Walmart probably would have had some good pomade. Maybe they could have even bought a laptop. And movies. Lots of movies. What better way to spend their six month sequestration than with a string of movie marathons? There's so many films he wants to share with Kate. About a week into their relationship, he'd caught her perusing his collection in the early morning light, cup of coffee in hand. He was pleased to find that she'd already seen most of his favorites.

Ooh, and they've got a pickup, so they could totally get a couch, and a bed frame, and …

"Are you sure we can't go to Walmart?" he whines.

"Babe, I want to go there as much as you do. But I'm sorry, we just - " she breaks off suddenly. "Hey - what's that?" She lifts one finger from the torn leather cover on the steering wheel and points at a rustic wooden building.

Castle squints, trying to make out the faded sign. "Why, it looks to me like an honest to goodness general store! With an antique furniture section! Jackpot," he says triumphantly.

Kate pulls into the lot, scanning the facade of the building for surveillance equipment. Once she's satisfied that they're not going to be caught on camera, she shoves the gear shift into neutral and hikes up the parking brake. Castle starts to open his door to get out, but she catches his free hand.

"Don't tell everyone our life story, okay?"

"What if they ask?"

"Then your responses are limited to one sentence," she says, brow raised sternly.

She climbs out of the truck and grimaces. She feels a little bit cleaner for having showered, but they couldn't find any soap. She suspects there's a little cloud of dirt following her around. After all, she's wearing the same clothes she changed into after Lanie peeled her out of her wedding dress in the firetruck over forty-eight hours ago.

Wind chimes ring as they step into the shop, and the sound takes her back to a simpler time. She'd spent a string of pre-teen summers with her parents at their cabin, and they'd done most of their shopping at a homespun establishment not too different to this one.

Huge brightly colored kayaks hang on a rack just inside the door, and the single large room smells like pine antiques and handmade quilts, mixed with the strange new plasticky scent of nylon windbreakers and stacks of tupperware. Kate bends to pick up a wicker shopping basket from the stack by the door. Quaint. She can only hope that whoever's looking after the shop isn't an older woman, because whenever he's around them Castle can't seem to shut up. She gets it, because if she was an old lady she'd unabashedly try to keep him talking for as long as possible. Even without the beauty products she knows he's pining for, he's magnetic. That, and he's got an extremely pinch-able ass. If there's one great thing about being a crazy old lady, it's that you can do stuff like pinch the rear-ends of young whippersnappers and not get into too much trouble. It's something that she intends to do frequently in her golden years.

She wanders down the first aisle, trying to talk herself out of buying almost everything in the shop. They don't have an endless supply of money, and they need to be smart about what they purchase. There's no refrigerated section, but there are plenty of dry goods. Kate starts filling bags with trail mix and granola bars. Castle sidles up to her and loops his arms around her waist.

"Can I make you dinner tonight?"

"Sure," she smiles. He rubs his scruffy chin roughly over the tender skin of her neck, and she's unable to formulate a more coherent response.

"No looking in my basket, then."

He skips off, leaving her a little unsteady on her feet. Probably just low blood-sugar. Right.

She loves his culinary surprises. Well, most of the time. And because he's treating her, she stealthily combs the aisles and picks up a few gifts for him as well.

She's sifting through a rack of floral muumuus when he appears with a leer, a pair of tiny pajama shorts in one hand and a camisole with the logo of a local university stamped across the chest in the other. She rolls her eyes, but takes the clothes and shoves them into her basket anyway. They're kinda cute.

Half an hour later, they approach the counter with four baskets full of food, cleaning supplies, and whatever clothes they could find that weren't heavy-duty camping jackets and boots. The corner of antiques had been particularly alluring, and Kate came away with two quilts and a tasteful table lamp for their bedroom. She'd managed to curtail some of Castle's more obnoxious requests, like the enormous pink velvet chaise lounge and the battery-powered sleeping dog whose tiny chest moved up and down to make it look like it was actually breathing.

The teenage boy manning the checkout barely looks at them while he rings up their purchases. He doesn't even take his earbuds out. Castle and Beckett both stiffen when he runs their WITSEC-provided credit card, and Kate flinches when Castle has to hastily change the C to a B as he's signing the receipt.

They start breathing normally again once they're in the safety of their truck. Their shopping trip was perfect, actually, and for the first time since she picked up the phone and heard about Castle's wreck, Kate starts to relax.

* * *

Kate pulls the last candle out of the shopping bag and sets it in the fireplace. They don't need the heat of a fire, but the glow of the naked flames make the room feel homier. The table lamp is plugged in to the corner near their bed and it casts a kaleidoscope of jewel tones on the wall. She's wearing the 'outfit' Castle picked out for her. The air is cool on her bare legs, so she slides them under the quilts and waits for her husband. He should be bringing up their dinner in bed shortly. Sure enough, the stairs creak again as he ascends, and he knocks lightly on the door.

"Close your eyes, Mrs. Bailey."

She would, but she doesn't want to miss his reaction to the room. He nudges the door open with his foot and enters, two glasses of white wine in one hand and a basket in the other. She guesses from the mouthwatering smell that it's his trademark extra-garlicky garlic bread.

The wine glasses clink and slide dangerously against each other. Castle pauses and watches them carefully as he regains his balance. Then he looks up.

The room is blurred to perfection with glowing candlelight, and Kate looks like a dream, propped up against the wall with shadows falling over her bare collarbones. Her new camisole is deliciously low-cut and her hair falls in loose waves. Her eyes are lined with a smoky layer of kohl, and he thanks the god of general stores for stocking eyeliner, because she's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"Hi," he says, and he hopes he sounds smooth. He feels like a complete dunce.

"Hi. Is that wine?"

Kate licks her lips when she sees the condensation gathering on the glasses, and she wonders briefly if he'd bought them from the store of if they'd been in the WITSEC cupboard. Castle only has enough brain power to wonder briefly if she licked her lips on purpose.

He sets the basket of garlic bread on the floor and hands her both wine glasses. Without a word, he dips back into the hallway and returns a moment later with two huge ceramic bowls and two forks. An aromatic steam rises gently from the bowls.

Castle sinks onto the bed and hands one dish to her. "Dinner is served."

"God, Castle, this smells delicious," she says, peering eagerly into her bowl.

"Butternut Squash and Chestnut Mushroom Risotto, with Monsieur Castle's Extra-garlicky Garlic Baguettes on the side."

"You're amazing," she says simply. The corners of her eyes crease when she smiles the wide open smile reserved for him. She's so beautiful he has to put his bowl down to brush his thumb along the curve of her mouth.

"Happy honeymoon, Kate."

"Happy honeymoon, Castle."

She lifts her face to his, flicking her eyes down to his lips and then back up again, smiling in that mischievous, sexy little way that he can never fucking describe adequately, and then her mouth meets his and he's spiraling headfirst into love all over again. Their kiss is exquisitely tender, a nudge here, a nip there, and he feels in that moment that their love is some precious, fragile glass creation that needs to be handled with the utmost care. It's an odd sensation, because he knows that their connection is stronger than anything he's ever experienced or witnessed. It can survive anything, and that fact has been tested too many times to count. They aren't fragile at all. They're invincible.

She draws back and looks at him, running her hand softly over his cheek.

"Thank you for this. I'm having fun," she whispers.

"Me too, Kate."

They eat over the easy conversation that has defined their friendship for years, but she can't help but notice he hasn't mentioned his mother or daughter. If he's not ready to talk about it - if he wants to dive into their life on the run as if it's a holiday and not a disaster - she's not about to ruin that for him.

She takes his empty bowl from him when he's done eating and twists to pull something out from under the mattress.

"Your turn to close your eyes. I got you a present."

Castle scrunches his eyes shut, lit up like a little boy on Christmas morning. She lays two items into his upturned hands.

"Open."

It's a spiral notebook and a pen.

"I thought you might want to write. Sorry it's not a computer," she says sheepishly, suddenly feeling inadequate.

"I haven't even had time to think about writing, but I'll get cranky if I don't get something out soon. I love it, Kate. How do you always know exactly what to get me?"

"Oh, you're easy, Castle," she grins, her lovely little pink tongue caught between her teeth.

Castle opens the notebook to the first page and runs his hand down the paper.

"Back to basics, eh? Who would have thought, the famous Rick Castle, writing in a notebook again. I wonder if I even can?" he jokes.

"I'm sure you can manage, Mister Best-selling Author."

"I have to admit though, I don't miss the cramps I used to get when I was writing _In A Hail of Bullets_."

"That's what I'm here for. Unlimited supply of hand massages."

"You give me unlimited hand massages and there will be a significantly lower output of material."

They grin at each other salaciously.

"You did a fantastic job with the room," he says.

Kate looks around at her handiwork. "You know, I kind of like it here actually. It's weird, but it works."

Her smile hits him like a freight train. They've spent so many years easing into what they are now. He often forgets that there was a time in his life that he didn't even know this woman. A time when he didn't love this woman. It becomes too much to contain, too much to handle. She sees it right away.

"Babe, what's up?"

"I just really love you, Katherine Beckett."

"I know." Kate pushes the quilts down off her legs and swings herself onto Castle's lap. "So why does it look like you're about to cry?"

"Because I am about to cry. It just stuns me, sometimes. How grateful I am for you."

She combs her fingers through his hair, locking her hands together over the warm skin on his neck. "I'm grateful for you, too, Rick."

"I've changed so much since I met you. I had every reason to be happy before you came along, but I felt so two-dimensional. I felt more like a character than a real person, like I was playing a part. And then, working with you, loving you, living with you - I thought it was the icing on the cake of my charmed life. We have so much in New York, and I try not to take it for granted. But it's only now, with everything else stripped away, that I realize that _you're_ the cake, and the rest is just icing."

She looks at him with wide clear eyes, giving him the space of mind to continue.

"So I'm very grateful. That you're here. That you're doing this for me. That you'd make these kind of sacrifices for me. So thank you."

"You're very welcome. But Rick, I'm not the only one making sacrifices. Look at you. No laptop, no dress shirts, no video game consoles."

He laughs. "I never thought I'd say this about such a shit hole, but I'm happy here, because I'm with you." His eyes water and his voice tightens. "I'm just so damn happy, and it's turning me into a huge crybaby." He swipes at a tear and gives her an apologetic look.

"The fact that you're willing to give up your fame, your money, your status, that's what makes this real. It's what makes our love story epic," she says.

She might never say it, but being here with him is almost a relief. Last year, she was having such terrifying thoughts about their relationship. They've come so far, been so much healthier since her return from DC, but she could still feel the edge of that old fear. She was still afraid that the music would stop.

But it hasn't, and now that they're here together, she knows that it never will. The past forty-eight hours have tested their relationship again, and it's proven itself. It's real. It's not just a product of their high-risk lifestyles.

She's had a handful of serious relationships, and she only realized recently that none of those men actually respected her. They saw her badge and her gun and thought oh, look, Katie's so cute, thinking she's a badass cop. They never saw her in action, never really understood what it meant to be a cop. Castle respects her for that, and so much more. He respects her morals, her iron will, the strength of character that he could see when she couldn't even see it herself anymore. No one she's ever dated has respected her as much as Castle does, and if that took six years to build, then she doesn't regret a moment of the time they spent as coworkers and friends.

And it took those years to make sure that her trust in him was just as unshakeable. So much change, mostly emotional, some physical, and it's all led them here.

She doesn't want to ruin the moment, but she has to ask.

"Are you okay about being away from Alexis for so long?"

"As okay as I can be. She'll be okay. She's tough. And we'll be back soon, I hope."

Kate looks away, and he catches her chin.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just that you seem to get a little broody every now and then. I'm worried that you won't be happy here without her. I mean, I miss her, and she's not even my kid."

"Hey, I love Alexis, but she has her own life now. She's not my whole world anymore. You are."

Kate tightens her thighs around his waist and lets her weight fall teasingly into his lap. She skims his jaw with her lips, tracing up settle over his ear. The vibrations of her breath send shivers through him.

"I have an idea," she purrs.

"Oh?"

"What do you say we consummate this marriage of ours?"

"I'd say that's an excellent idea."

* * *

Their second morning in the house is beautiful. They're wrapped in a peaceful, isolated bubble, and it seems unreal that life might be like this for the next six months. No work, no pesky calls from Paula or Gina, no cases, no dead bodies.

Kate dozes in Castle's sleeping arms for a few minutes, then she starts daydreaming, making lists in her mind, thinking of things they can get to make their house feel more like a home. She didn't realize it, but moving into his loft meant that she'd missed out on the joy of creating a home _with_ him. This house, even though it's a heap, is a chance for them to be normal newlyweds.

Castle reaches for her, palms hot on her waist as he pulls her back against his body to spoon her. She finds herself drifting back to sleep. It's a luxury that she rarely has and usually resists. But this is their honeymoon, even if it's not in the most glamorous location, and she'll do anything for the man whose ring she wears and whose hands hold her heart.

They rise a couple of hours later, not completely rested but getting there. They try the freeze dried coffee they'd bought from the general store. There was a decent selection of beans, but the store didn't have a coffee machine or a grinder, so they had to settle. They both try to keep their poker faces on as they sip, swallowing the coffee down with effort.

They speak at the same time.

"This is horrible."

"Let's go find a coffee shop."

Twenty minutes later, they find themselves in a roadside diner on the outskirts of town. It reminds her so much of Remy's, even though the view out the window is considerably different, forests instead of high-rises, empty space instead of throngs of people. Castle sets their steaming mugs onto the napkins Kate's laid out and sinks into the bright red pleather armchair across from her.

"To us," he says, lifting his mug.

And then his eyes flick over her shoulder, and his cup clashes hers. Hard. The jolt sends streams of hot liquid over both their wrists. He doesn't react, doesn't jump at the burning heat, and she knows in that moment that something is very, very wrong.

"Castle?"

Kate swivels in her chair to see what he's staring at.

On the television, a newscaster shuffles papers around on her desk. The camera cuts to a shot of Captain Victoria Gates standing at a podium with a fan of microphones in front of her. The volume is turned all the way down, but the banner across the bottom of the screen reads 'New Yorkers Shocked by Death of Mystery Novelist Richard Castle.'

But that's not all. Because two women are flanking Captain Gates. Two women with tearstained faces and burning bright hair.

Castle's face is soaked with grief, because Alexis looks … destroyed.

And then the lines on his face contort into rage.

He knows that Hunt lied.


	16. Smoke Signal

.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**  
Smoke Signal

* * *

Beckett's tongue lies stiff and heavy in her mouth. It tingles slightly, as if it's been electrocuted with pure fear, and there's an acrid taste near her molars, like she's chewed an aspirin instead of swallowing it.

Hunt lied, and she chose not to call him out on it.

Castle's face is ashen, and she could have prevented it. Her heart starts to collapse in on itself. They were doing _so_ well, and she's screwed up again. She doesn't want to hurt him with yet another secret she's kept - hasn't she done enough of that already?

When she'd shared that glance with Hunt, she'd been so exhausted, just so emotionally spent, but it's not really an excuse. She thought she was doing the right thing by letting it go. But now she has to wonder if this is another lie that will come close to breaking them.

But there's no time to dwell on it, because their faces are being shown on national television. They have to get out of the diner.

"Cas - " she stops herself. "Rick."

He doesn't respond, just stares at the screen, eyes hardened blue diamonds.

"Rick, I know you're in shock, but you need to listen to me. We need to leave the diner as inconspicuously as possible." She fishes out a dollar's worth of quarters and lays them on the table. Thankfully, they'd paid for their coffees at the counter. She chugs some more of her coffee. Normally it would pain her to leave a fresh cup behind, but the enormity of the moment has thrown a dark shadow over their little luxuries. She has to get Castle back to the house before he combusts.

She swivels around again to catch the end of her captain's statement, and the banner at the bottom of the screen ticks over to read 'Author's Muse and Fiancée Missing for 48 Hours.' Panic settles low in her belly. The world sharpens into focus, and every time anyone in the diner turns their head, she feels a climbing paranoia that they're about to be recognized.

Castle is still sitting there dumbly. She can't very well haul him up out of his seat; it would make too big a scene.

"Rick," she tries again.

He's still staring. The screen behind her must have changed again, because his expression shifts, just slightly, into something even less readable.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Castle whispers, so sharply that it startles her. "They're having a _memorial _for me. A fucking memorial."

The pale whitewash of his face starts warming into a livid red. She's got about thirty seconds to do something, and she has no clue what to say that will make him get out of the damn booth and into their truck.

"We need to go. Get up."

Nothing.

"Look, I will help you personally dismember your father later, but we have to go. You look like you're about to explode, and you just cannot do that here, Rick. Please."

A flicker, and then nothing.

"Okay. Right. Let me tell you what's about to happen. I'm going to stand up, and when I do, you're going to get up too. I'm going to hold your hand and we're going to walk to the car together. Then I'm going to drive you back to the house, and you can put a few rounds in a tree, or punch the mattress. You can shove me up against the wall and lose control, if that's what you need. Just please get up and do as I say. For your wife. For our marriage, Rick."

This time she doesn't wait for him to respond, just puts her words into action. When she stands, he follows slowly. She slips her hand into his, fingers curving comfortably into his, her body so familiar with the size and shape of him now.

She pulls on him slightly, and he starts to move, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the television even though the newscaster has moved onto another headline. No one really notices them leaving, but Beckett's back feels exposed and raw with all the imagined stares.

She's only seen Castle like this once before. He's so still on the surface, but she can see the seething turmoil underneath. To be honest, it's a little frightening, but also a bit awe-inspiring. There's this dark, primal side to him that so perfectly matches hers. It's part of what makes him so interesting, that he's not simply a carefree, jubilant man with the world's most adorable case of Peter Pan syndrome. In another life, under different circumstances, they might have made different moral choices, chosen to fight for different reasons. They could have been hunters. Predators. And they would have been spectacular together.

But they both press their darkness down, drawing light from one another and the people around them that they love. Maybe her mother's death had everything to do with her burgeoning sense of justice, and maybe working with her had everything to do with his. They are the good guys now. She loves what they are together, and she's not about to let it go, to let some mysteriously sinister puppet master ruin their lives.

Beckett walks Castle to his side of the truck and opens the door for him. When she tries to gently slide her hand from his, his fingers tighten almost painfully. It's nothing she can't handle, so she lets him hold onto her for a long moment, feeling the oxygen deprivation prickle at her fingertips before she finally pries his hand from hers.

She doesn't waste time as she rounds the truck to the driver's side, and she drives at exactly the speed limit even though her foot is shaking on the gas pedal. She fights the urge to gun it, to get them safely away from the beady watchful eyes of the people in the other cars they're passing.

Castle is silent for the whole ride. Something's brewing, and she can only imagine the words that are spinning in cyclones in his brain. Or maybe when he's like this the writer in him turns off, gives way to something less evolved, the swimming letters of his usual thoughts replaced with intense images of pure emotion. She doesn't know, and that stings in her chest. He's the love of her life, and she doesn't even know what's going through his mind, and she's too afraid of stepping on a land mine to ask.

Finally, finally, the trees become denser, and the cars thin out, and then she's pulling onto the gravelly drive leading to their house. She parks and helps him out. She wonders if she's going to have to carry him up the stairs, but he follows her as always, only he's acting more like a zombie than the floppy cocker spaniel she's used to. It's awful.

She sits him down on the bed and takes off his shoes. She doesn't know if he wants to be touched or not, so she sits down next to him, hands in her lap, close enough to reach if he needs to reach for her, but trying not to crowd him.

And then the tears start, his chest heaving with manfully repressed sobs, and she can't help but move, to fall onto him. She presses herself to his side and her hand comes up to cradle his cheek. Over and over, her thumb strokes the soft skin beneath his eye that shines with his angry grief. Her forehead is pressed firmly into his chin, and she imagines that his eyes are closed above her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It's all she can say.

He was bound to break sooner or later, and seeing Alexis was the straw. He's handled the last forty-eight hours pretty well, considering, and she knows his tears are about more than his daughter.

His chest hiccups as the feelings drain out of him. She does what she can to absorb it for him.

When he stills, he speaks. His voice is ragged. "You'll help me hide his body, right?"

"Of course I will." She'll let him cool down before she reminds him that Hunt is still the key to their safety, is still the only way they can emerge from their hideout and resume their places in the world.

Unless it's time to take matters into her own hands. In that moment, an idea starts forming in Kate Beckett's mind.

She agreed to go on the run because she thought she and Castle would be safer and happier that way. But one glance at the morning news and he's been decimated, and whatever little pretend-life they could have sustained has absolutely no chance of happening now.

"Okay," Castle sighs. "I'm okay now. Let's go."

"Uh, what? Where are we going?"

As soon as she asks, she knows. He wants to call Alexis. She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off.

"Just don't, Kate. You know I have to do this. It's not up for discussion. You saw her face."

She settles back against his shoulder and nods meekly.

"I think it's safe to say I have the worst dad in the world. I can't believe he lied."

Kate snorts unattractively.

"I believe it."

"I mean, I know he's a lying son of a bitch, but I didn't think he was lying about telling them."

She doesn't answer. This is the moment, she thinks. The moment that he'll lose faith in her. The faith that she's not sure she ever deserved.

"Kate?" His voice is stone. "Did you think he was lying then?"

She steels herself, then meets his eyes.

"I didn't think he was lying. I _knew_ he was lying."

"You … I'm sorry, what?"

"He was trying to do the right thing - "

"The right thing?!"

"Castle, are you trying to tell me that you're not five minutes from rocketing off? To make a call from a pay phone or something equally idiotic, probably to Alexis's cell phone, right? How easy would it be then for whoever put that hit out on you to track us? If Hunt hadn't placated you back on the boat, you would have shot off."

"I can't believe this. I would not have shot off! This is so fucked up."

"I'm sorry."

Castle angles his body away from hers like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

"Rick, I can't say anything except that I'm sorry, and that I still think it was the right decision. Be mad at me, fine, but please don't shut down on me. I was just trying to do what would keep you alive, and maybe that's selfish, but if I could do it over, I'd do the same because I'm not letting you plunge headfirst into danger."

She's the one who's crying now.

"I didn't say anything because I can't lose you. Please don't let my decision mean that I lose you anyway."

He must see her fear, because he softens just a fraction.

"Kate," he sighs, "you're not going to lose me over one disagreement. I'm upset that you didn't say anything, and it might take some time to get over. But please understand, nothing will break us, I promise, even if you are the most frustrating woman alive. I'm sorry that you're getting the brunt of my anger, because honestly most of it should be raining down on my fucking father."

"Your dad is supremely misguided, I'll give you that, but I think the person we should be mad at is whoever's ordered this hit."

Castle loops an arm around her and tugs her back to his side. They sit propped against the wall for a few minutes, her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat as it calms and slows, and the rhythmic pounding sounds like the relief washing through her. Her stupid secret-keeping didn't destroy them. It's not the last time she'll make a mistake, she knows, but they're communicating and working through them so much more quickly than they used to. She's proud of them, and she loves him more than she ever has.

He's too emotional about it to plan something safe, so she starts thinking for him. His eyes are closed when she's got it together, and she whispers to him, a_ mea culpa_ and a declaration of love all in one.

"I have an idea. A way for you to get word to Alexis."

* * *

The first part of her plan is to go through the most run-down, low budget drive-through they can find to ask where the local library is. They're both wearing the huge sunglasses she wisely purchased from the general store the day before, and luckily there aren't any cameras trained on the drive through lane. Kate orders some fried chicken on the grounds that they can't just go through a drive to just ask a question, but truthfully she's starving and the scent wafting through the window is just too good to pass up. Castle waves away her offer of a chicken leg, but she's not about to let him starve on her, so she prods him with it again, leaving a little greasy mark on his arm. His appetite wins out and he starts munching.

By the time they get to the library, he's eaten more than his fair share of chicken, but she's not about to complain. He is a big man, so broad, and she wants him to stay that way.

The library is small and quiet, and has a row of large greying Apple computers. Kate steers away from them, confident in her plan. She doesn't know how to hack, exactly, but she knows some cheats, and the library computers will require an administrator password to do what she wants to do.

She drags Castle down one of the less popular aisles and she can see that being in the company of his old friends is helping him to loosen up. She instructs him to pick out enough books to keep them occupied for a few hours, and he finds himself enjoying the task. He gathers a towering stack, a little excited to see if she's read his favorites and, if not, happy to be the one to share them with her.

He finds her at a round study table in an open section of the library, digging in to her own stack of books.

There are a few other people there, some teens on beanbags in the corner reading a glossy photography book from the arts section and giggling, probably over nudes. There's a man across the table from them poring over something boring-looking, pausing every now and then to scrawl on a lined notepad. No one has a personal laptop, but they have time, and shelves of entertainment.

* * *

An hour and a half later, a student comes in with an expensive Macbook. Kate doesn't hold much hope, and sure enough, the kid doesn't let it out of her sight even for a moment. She leaves not long after, and Castle looks a little dejected.

Finally, a guy comes in, panting and frazzled, a huge backpack hanging off one shoulder and a skateboard under his opposite arm.

"Got a good feeling about this one," Kate whispers to Castle. He looks up from the book she recommended, _The Thirteenth Tale_, and watches as the guy drops his gear and starts unloading his bag, pulling out a battered Dell laptop.

The teens have dispersed, and the room is empty save for a few people browsing the aisles, so when the guy goes to the next room to use the catalogue on the library computers, it's a perfect storm.

Castle stays in his seat, as per the plan, pretending to read but really being the lookout. He can just see the guy's back through a bookshelf, and he's poised to throw a signal to Beckett if he comes back.

She moves smoothly over to the guy's table. She can't believe she's doing a stealth operation in a local library. It's a little ridiculous, really. She cracks open the laptop, throwing Castle a nod when it boots up and loads the home screen without asking for a password. She connects to the public Wi-Fi and quickly searches for an IP masking freeware. She taps her foot under the table, eyes shifting from the guy's back to the slowly crawling installation bar. When the program finishes installing, she uses it to mask their location. Anyone intercepting the information will think they're in San Francisco. She finds the kid's Skype, and after a bit of hunting, she finds a document with some of his passwords conveniently typed out for her. She goes through the list, and the fifth one logs her in.

She types in a number, one of the only ones she knows by heart, and one that she's fairly sure won't be monitored. If anyone's looking for Castle, they'll have tapped Alexis's phone, and the loft, and probably Paula and Gina and possibly even the personal lines of their coworkers at the precinct.

She only knows this number because she needed it when she was at the cabin calling into New York on her dad's landline for emergency consultations.

She keeps her voice low, partly in deference to the books, partly to keep laptop guy from hearing her.

"Hi, I need to speak to Dr. Burke urgently, please. I'd prefer not to give it. Yes I'll hold."

The soothing hold music of her psychiatrist's office annoys her just as much as it did the summer after she got shot.

"Dr. Burke speaking."

"Hi. It's Kate Beckett. Please don't say my name. I need to keep this call short, and I need a favor."

"I'll do what I can," Burke says warmly. She really lucked out with her shrink. He helped her find the person Castle deserves, and she thinks he became fond of her on the way. She does genuinely see Burke as a friend, and one that she can trust, although that might just be the job requirement. She doesn't think so though. She's banking on him having some friendly interest in her well-being.

"I'm going to get Castle on the line. Hold on."

She rises from her chair and sees Castle do the same. Wordlessly, they cross paths in the middle of the library study area, and he sits down to the call with Burke.

"Hi Dr. Burke. As you can hear, the reports of my death were somewhat exaggerated."

"Glad to hear it, R - "

Castle cuts him off before he can say his name.

"Listen, my daughter and mother don't know that I'm okay. Can you please find a way to tell them? Not over the phone. And not at my loft. Just find a way, please."

"Sure. Thank you for not asking me to do something illegal."

"Didn't peg you for the kind of guy who would," Castle smiles. "Thank you. We have to go, but thank you."

Castle presses the red button to end the call, then deletes the record of the call from the Skype log. He switches places with Kate so she can uninstall the IP masking software, and she empties the trash just as she hears Castle make a clucking noise. The guy is standing up, and there's no time to shut his laptop down properly, so she just closes the lid and slinks into the row of bookshelves nearest to his table.

The guy wanders back over with an index card scribbled with call numbers. He opens his laptop and Kate holds her breath. He doesn't even seem to notice that it's been turned on.

* * *

That night, neither of them can get to sleep. Castle lies awake in the dark, legs restless with wanting to move, to sneak out and find a phone so he can hear his daughter's voice. Every time Kate's on the brink of falling asleep, she feels her partner shift and her blood accelerates in her veins, ears pricked and listening hard to make sure he's not getting up and running.

She finally gets fed up and rolls onto him, pressing the long line of her body over his. She's done it before, collapsed on him, and he had assured her that she's not too heavy and can stay there all night. She can feel him relax beneath her. She's holding him down, yes, but she's holding him together, too, and the weight of her body on his lulls him to sleep at last.

* * *

_Author's Note: Wow, that was a bit more angst than I had anticipated. Thank you all so much for reading, and an extra special thanks to the wonderful people who have taken the time to review, and even bigger thanks to those who have reviewed every chapter! :) This chapter will cross the 300 review line, with almost 270 followers. I cannot describe how amazing that feels, so thank you thank you thank you. Onward!_


	17. Unexpected Visitor

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* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**  
Unexpected Visitor

* * *

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Castle rolls Beckett quietly off his chest. He tucks the quilts in around her as her breathing picks up, kissing the worry lines that appear on her forehead as she stirs. Then he holds very still until her breathing falls back into the long rhythms of sleep.

He extracts himself from the bed and traipses downstairs to make himself a cup of coffee, then sits down with his new notebook. The spiral binding creaks as he opens it and lays it flat on the plastic table. Swiping one hand over his sleep-soft face, he blinks widely, forcing his eyes open. Usually, he makes a point of not getting out of bed before nine for anything other than a murder, but he just couldn't stay still any longer.

He sits at the table for almost an hour, but he can't drink the coffee, and he definitely can't write. He stares at the pathetic words on the top line. _Hello, my name is Rick._ Not his usual brilliance. He was hoping the muscle memory of moving the pen over the paper would shock his synapses into firing, but nothing followed.

He closes the notebook, pushes his chair away from the table with a grating squawk, and heads outside into the crisp forest morning. Not far from the back of the house he finds a tree stump, a huge, healthy looking thing, despite the numerous deep gashes in its surface. On the ground beside it, catching just a shard of morning sunlight through the leaves, is an axe.

Well, if he's not going to write, he may as well act like a local. He's always wanted to try chopping wood, but with no father and an Broadway mom, he never got around to it. His mind weaves a comedic image of Martha Rodgers wrapped in a garish damask-print dress, wielding an axe and splitting logs. He'd laugh if he weren't so bitter about everything.

He picks up the axe, then immediately drops it. The handle is covered in slime. _No, Rick, you live in the woods now. Can't let a little moss freak you out. _He picks the tool up again, and tries to wipe the moss off with a handful of fallen leaves, but they're as soggy as the axe. He eyes the stump and scans the ground for something to chop. There are some small branches nearby, and he lays one horizontally on the top of the stump.

Castle holds the axe high above his head and slams it down. The branch splits neatly in two, and the blade cleaves deeply into the stump. He catches himself before he lets out a delighted squawk. Chopping logs is actually awesome. He goes to pull the axe out, eager to take out some of the frustration he feels towards his father on some unsuspecting wood, but there's one problem.

The axe is well and truly stuck.

His shoulders slump. The knot of frustration in his chest hasn't been this tight since he was a kid. He's just so overwhelmed by this whole situation. The tears he'd cried yesterday let off some of the pressure, but he shouldn't be here, in the middle of nowhere, attempting to chop wood. As much fun as it is to pretend, it's not him. He wants his life back. He stares at the axe, embedded in the stump.

Nothing is going according to plan.

* * *

Kate lurches into consciousness to find him gone.

She's halfway down the driveway, pulling her sweatshirt over her head, wondering how Castle got anywhere without the truck when she hears the _thunk thunk thunk _coming from the back of the house.

Oh, no. Has someone come for them already? Please no, no…

She briefly considers going back into the house for her gun, but the thought of Castle in danger spurs her on. She breaks into a run, stepping on the softer patches of earth with the balls of her feet, trying not to make too much noise. She flattens herself against the side of the house and peers around the corner, almost collapsing with relief. She comes out of hiding and walks towards her partner. His t-shirt is clinging to him, and there's a dark patch of sweat gathering between his shoulder blades.

Now she knows what the noise was. He's chopping wood, for fuck's sake. Her city boy, trying to be all manly for her.

"Rick the Outdoorsman. All you're missing is a plaid shirt," she drawls as she approaches, crossing her arms and warily eying his grip on the axe.

"Morning," he says gruffly, swinging the axe high and coming down once, twice, three times on a twig no bigger around than his finger.

"You know, you don't need an axe for a branch that size."

"It's therapeutic."

Sheesh. One day in the woods and he's turned into a lumberjack, complete with brusque responses. She wants her Castle back, the one who blabbers on and uses moisturizer three times a day. The one who looks at her when she's speaking and would have put the axe down to give her a kiss. Or four.

Kate bends down to pick up a respectably sized log, one that's still round and whole and much too big to burn, but the classic size for chopping into quarters.

"Can I ask why you haven't tried chopping this one?"

"Turn it over."

She does as he says, and sees that the other end is riddled with slices. She smothers a grin.

"I take it you had some trouble?"

"Damn thing kept shooting off to the side. When I didn't miss it entirely, that is. The few times I actually nailed it, I couldn't get more than a few inches in."

"Give me the axe."

"What? No, I'm chopping. Go find your own axe."

"Give me the axe, Castle."

"Fine," he huffs, handing it to her and stepping away from the stump petulantly.

She tests the blade with her nail, then sweeps his pathetic branch shavings aside and sets the log on end in the center of the stump. She takes aim, swinging the axe with grace. It comes down hard, in just the right spot, and the log yields to her, splitting perfectly down the middle.

As gorgeous and powerful as his wife is, Castle can't help but feel a little bit sulky. She turns around with a grin, but it slides down her face as soon as she sees his expression.

"Babe, I know you're upset about Alexis, but we've done all that we can. She'll get the message, and she'll just have to be brave, but staying hidden needs to be our priority at the moment."

"It's not that."

Kate lets the axe drop to the ground and wraps her arms around Castle's waist, sweat be damned.

"Tell me?"

Castle nuzzles his face into her neck, and she can feel him absorbing the comfort she's trying to transfer to him through the press of her arms.

"I miss our life. I'm completely useless to you out here. I wanted to make you a fire and I can't even chop wood."

She doesn't always have the patience for self-deprecation, and she much favors a good witty retort over a placation, but extreme situations call for extreme measures.

"You are not useless. Or did you forget the amazing dinner you made for us?"

"So I made dinner. Big deal. You got us on the train, and got the pick-up started, and figured out a way to talk to Alexis when I could barely even think. And you can chop wood," he says, staring mournfully at the split log.

"It doesn't take talent, Rick, you just have to know the tricks. I'll teach you. And I can assure you that out of the two of us," she slides her hands under the hem of his t-shirt, feathering her teasing fingers over the soft skin of his sides, "you look a lot sexier chopping wood … with your shirt off." She rakes her fingernails up, bringing the fabric with them.

"You want me to chop wood for you topless? I feel so objectified," he protests, a little bit of his warmth returning.

"Shut up and lose the shirt, lumberjack."

"Yes ma'am."

She shows him where to aim for to split the wood down the grain, then backs off to let him try. And damn, when he raises his arms, the muscles of his upper back bunching tightly together, he looks like he belongs on the cover of a bodice-ripper.

He splits the log on the first try, and turns around beaming.

"You know, I have to respectfully disagree with you about one thing."

"Oh?"

"I bet you'd look a hell of a lot sexier than me chopping wood topless."

She cocks an eyebrow.

"You think so, huh?"

"Care to test my theory, detective?"

Her fingers dance at the hem of her sweatshirt, that crazy, magnificent gleam in her eye that she gets when she's about to do something unbelievable. He holds his breath, afraid that any sudden movements, including biting his fist, might scare her off and make her change her mind.

Suddenly her eyes dart over his shoulder, and her body stiffens. She's propelled instantly into cop mode.

"Did you hear that?" she whispers.

"Oh, come on, Beckett, you're not going to fool me with - "

"Shut up, Castle, I'm serious. I think I saw something."

She grabs Castle by the elbow and tugs him to her side, turning them so their backs face the house. She bends, eyes still scanning the trees, and picks up the axe. Maybe she's being paranoid. The woods are probably full of wild animals. But she can't shake the composite image of two faces that look a lot like Lockwood and Maddox. They wait for a few minutes, but they don't hear or see anything else.

"Look, let's just get back inside," she says.

She scans the trees once more before heading towards the front of the house. It feels wrong to turn her back on the forest.

Once inside, she takes the stairs two at a time, and gets her gun from their bedroom. She goes into one of the empty rooms, one with a window looking out onto where she's sure she saw a streak of black. She presses herself against the wall, her temple flush against the wood.

She stays by the window for an hour. Her eyes are aching from looking so long to one side. Castle stays with her the whole time, just on the other side of the window, but he has to draw the line somewhere.

"Come downstairs for lunch, Kate."

She concedes. She's being irrational; hearing one sound in the woods doesn't automatically mean there's another hit man after them. Still, she doesn't let Castle out of her sight, and she keeps him focused on tasks inside the house that keep him away from the windows, and she devotes half of her attention to listening for anything unusual.

* * *

It's nearly midnight when she hears the soft snick of a branch breaking outside their bedroom window. She's been on edge all day, and it's the final straw.

"Castle, wake up."

"Mmm?" he groans. He thought his honeymoon would be filled with blissful blocks of uninterrupted sleep, the kind where he doesn't even move because his body is so exhausted from sun and sex and food.

"Sorry, I just - something's not right."

He's not sure what to say, not sure what he can do to convince her to let her guard down. They can't live like this, so on-edge that they can't even sleep. He's about to suggest they go for a drive to cool off when a slow, scraping sound travels up the stairs and through the open door of their room.

It's a familiar noise, one he noticed the first time he opened the front door. It's the squawk of the old doorknob turning.

"Shit," he whispers. Kate was right. Someone's been watching them all day, and he's come to shoot them in their bed. Less messy than a confrontation in the woods, and the outcome is guaranteed.

"Blankets. Clothes." Kate's voice is hard. She starts moving, quickly and silently, and Castle catches on in an instant. She's going to try the old dummy in the bed trick. They build their stand-ins hastily, then move into the corner of the room, the only place completely black with shadow, just as the top step creaks. Beckett still has her gun, but Castle's got nothing. He scans the room, but the only thing close enough to him is the lighter she'd used to light their candles. He grabs it.

The man enters the room on ninja-quiet feet. Castle's heart thuds in his chest at the sight of the terrifying black gun in the man's hands.

The man braces the gun and takes two shots in quick succession, bullets whizzing through the silencer to bury deep in the two round balls of clothes Kate had fashioned into heads.

The man knows instantly that something's wrong. Maybe he knows how it sounds for his bullets to meet flesh with a dull thud, and the pillows didn't reverberate correctly. Beckett doesn't give him a moment to think. She flies forward, kicking the man's knees out from behind, then smashing the butt of her gun into the back of his head. He drops heavily, his nose meeting the floorboards with a crack. She flips him onto his back, and his head lolls to the side, blood streaming from his nose and entirely unconscious. She plants one foot on his chest and takes aim, leveling the barrel of her Glock right between the man's eyes.

"Beckett." Castle tries to cut through her ruthless focus, but she doesn't move. There's a monumental amount of latent anger in her towards these bastards, these cowardly servants who think they're so badass, think they can just go around nameless and faceless, carrying out the sins of their masters all for a tidy paycheck. She didn't get to personally put Lockwood or Maddox in the ground, so she's not about to hesitate with this one. She's not going to let him get away only to put more lives in danger. The lives of the people she loves.

"Kate," Castle says, "if you do this, no matter how bad this guy is, we'll be on the run forever, or you'll be behind bars. The NYPD won't have your back, legally, seeing as you're not on assignment."

Beckett finally lowers her gun.

"Fine. What do you suggest we do?"

"I - I uh - hadn't thought that far.

"Well, then I think we have to call your dad."

"We can't call my dad. I saw what he did with that CIA mole. He'll just tell us to put a bullet through this guy's head."

"Can't say that I disagree with him on this one. But seriously, Castle, what's the alternative? Tie him to a support column in the basement like they did on Breaking Bad?"

"Hey, that's not a bad - "

"No. We're calling your dad, because this has gone on long enough. I was fine with a couple of days on the run. I was looking forward to spending some time with you, just you, and I felt safe here. But whatever we did wrong when we called Burke, we sent up a flare, and I'm tired of running. Enough hiding, Castle. It's time to fight."

He nods grimly. They probably should have fought from the beginning, it just seemed so much more appealing after their ruined wedding to spend time together.

"Can you find some rope or duct tape? Anything and everything that we can use to tie this guy up. If he's anything like Lockwood or Maddox, we're going to have a hell of a time keeping him here when he comes around."

Castle nods and heads for the door. Beckett raises her gun, setting her aim on the man on the floor.

"And if he wakes up, I'm shooting his kneecaps out, so hurry up, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

"He's totally going to escape while we're gone," Castle says, chewing nervously on his thumb as they bounce down the dark road in their pickup.

"Well, if he does, just remember that you wouldn't let me shoot him," Kate grumbles. She's going just a touch over the speed limit, and forces herself to slow down. The roads are empty, and speeding would be an open invitation for the bored small town cops on the night beat to stop them. That kind of complication is the last thing they need when they have an assassin tied up in their living room.

"So, do you want to do this, or do you want me to?" she asks.

"Up to you."

"Just tell me what you want to do, Castle." Kate hears herself and snorts. "Look at us, arguing like an old married couple over who's going to go into a gas station at one in the morning to steal someone's smartphone so we can get word to our CIA father that a hit man has come for us."

"See? Told you we'd never be boring. Even after three long days of marriage." He squeezes her thigh affectionately. "You'd better do the stealing. I might get recognized."

She rolls her eyes.

"Fine. You're stealthier than me, how's that?"

"I'll do the stealing," she agrees, "but you should come in too. You're very good at distracting people. Just in case I get in a bind."

She parks their pickup in a shadowy space as far away from the front door of the gas station convenience store as possible. She figures that the appearance of the hit man means the cat's already out of the bag, and that whoever's after them knows exactly where they are, but she doesn't want to make it too easy for them.

Once they're inside, Beckett makes her way slowly down the candy aisle, pretending to be deep in thought over whether to buy a bag of gummy bears or fun-size Snickers. Castle meanders over to the checkout desk and picks up the nearest magazine and starts flipping through it, not noticing that it's full of pictures of women in white dresses.

The clerk is a middle-aged man, a little rough around the edges, but with friendly sparkling eyes.

"You two been out at the Casino or to the Johnny Cash tribute concert?"

Seriously? What is it with people in small towns always wanting to chit-chat? Castle throws a glance at Beckett and finds her glaring at him. One word answers, right. Maybe he can get away with two.

"Johnny Cash."

Beckett starts coughing, because Castle delivers the two words in what has to be _the_ most ridiculous southern accent she's ever heard.

"It doesn't sound like you're from around here," the man says, eyeing them warily.

"We're from Texas, actually," Castle drawls. Shit, that was more than two words.

"Oh? I have family in Texas, whereabouts?"

Beckett is absolutely going to kill him, but he's going to have to break the word limit rule in a bad way. Thankfully, the electronic door monitor sings a little tune and a trio of heavily made-up young women stumble in. At least Kate'll be busy lifting a cell phone from one of these girls. Maybe she won't have time to stare holes in his back. Castle continues chatting to the clerk.

"Uh, Dallas," he says. "We just moved, though, we'd been in Houston before that, and San Antonio before that. We're up here in Plattsburgh visiting our folks and thought we'd come up to see the Johnny Cash concert. Wife loves him," he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Beckett. "It's the first date I've taken her on since the baby was born. It's our third. A boy this time."

"Ah," the man says, a little befuddled at the overload of unrequested information.

Beckett sidles up to him and slides her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Honey, we'd better get back to the kids."

Holy. Hell.

Kate Beckett just did a southern accent for him. A smooth, buttery, sexy-as-sin southern accent. Castle is stunned into silence. She squeezes his ass, hard, to get him talking again.

"Right-ee-oh," Castle says through a cough. "Nice shootin' the breeze with you, sir."

"Aren't you gonna buy anything?"

"Oh, yeah, um, I'll take this," Castle says, slapping the magazine he'd been pretending to read down on the counter.

The guy looks at the bridal magazine, then at the two of them, then at their wedding bands, but thankfully doesn't ask. They pay and get back to the car as quickly as possible.

Once they're clear of the glaring overhead fluorescents of the gas station, Castle thumbs the stolen phone to life.

"Remember, the story title is _Heat Seeking Missile," _Kate reminds him with a smirk.

"How could I forget," he deadpans. His thumbs fly over the glass, finding the story Hunt told them about and typing in his review. "How's this sound: 'Wow, great chapter, loved how the enemy found Nikki and Rook at their place! More from you AS SOON AS POSSIBLE please!'"

"Gets the message across."

Castle presses submit and tosses the phone out the window.

"I hope our prisoner is still tied up when we get home," he says, crossing his fingers as he says it. Beckett stares straight ahead, lips set in a grim line.

"Me too, Castle. Me too."

* * *

_Author's Note: Well, that puts us over 50,000 words. I cannot honestly believe I've made it this far, and I'm so proud of this story and I've been having wonderful time creating it for you. Four more chapters to go. If you haven't yet, please take a moment to follow, favorite, or review, because that's the best way to make sure other people find and enjoy the story. Happy Monday! - Bri x_


	18. Decisions

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* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**  
Decisions

* * *

Castle is the very picture of calm. He leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee ever so slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the hard black stare of their prisoner. The man is quite possibly the most average-looking person Castle's ever seen. He has a perfectly standard amount of ordinary brown hair, and there's absolutely nothing asymmetrical about him. Not a single distinguishing feature that would save him from being boringly nondescript. He's handsome, yet somehow not handsome enough to make an impression. Definitely not _ruggedly _handsome.

Beckett sits next to Castle, one hand on her gun, the other flipping through the bridal magazine they bought at the gas station.

The man hasn't even tried to speak through the duct tape covering his mouth. He just stares. It's getting kinda creepy. When they got back to the house they found the guy halfway out of his bindings, but another knock on the head and a second application of duct tape put him right back where he started - bound tightly to the metal pole supporting an extension of the kitchen counter. Castle absently wonders if the barstools from his loft would look good there.

"You should get some sleep, Rick," Kate says. "We're going to have to take turns watching him."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think I got a little bit more sleep than you last night."

"Okay. I'll set the alarm and take over in a couple of hours. When do you think you-know-who will get here?"

"Voldemort?"

"Kate!" he hisses. "Are you crazy? Don't say his name out loud!"

She suppresses a laugh. "I don't know, Castle. It took us a whole day to get here, but I imagine he has the resources to make it in a few hours." Assuming Hunt even got their message.

Beckett eyes their prisoner. Anyone else might have missed the gleam of interest that passed over his face at the mention of a visitor, but she's a trained interrogator, and she can tell that he's curious. He doesn't need to know that it's Hunt who might be on the way, and he certainly doesn't need to know that Hunt is Castle's father.

Castle rises and drops a kiss to the top of Kate's head.

"Holler if you need anything, and shoot him if you have to," he says casually, as if this is normal everyday situation for them.

"Will do. Love you."

"Love you too."

Castle stops at the bottom of the staircase, his whole body stretching stiffly into an enormous yawn.

Suddenly, a garishly cheerful tune reverberates through the house. Castle freezes with one foot poised above the bottom step. He's not the kind of guy who's ashamed to admit when he's scared, and if he was writing this feeling, he'd say that it feels like his liver's sliding down one leg to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Was that a _doorbell_?

First of all, he would not have thought this house would have a doorbell, and second of all, who the hell would be ringing it at this hour? It's two a.m., and not only are he and Beckett on the run, they have a forcefully subdued assassin tied up in the next room.

Castle creeps back to the kitchen, cringing as his stupid clumsy feet make each and every floorboard creak. Kate is standing, her gun leveled on their captive, her body poised and humming like it always is when she's in cop mode. She tosses a questioning look over her shoulder.

"Uh, were you expecting company?" Castle whispers.

She leans down and extracts another gun from the hidden holster at her ankle. Oh, wow, he didn't even know she'd been wearing that.

"Take my backup piece. You stay here and watch him," she says, nodding at Mr. Average. "I'll get the door."

Kate moves stealthily out of the room, and Castle takes a few yoga breaths like she taught him, hoping to look calm and collected. He's seen enough movies to know that distractions like this give tied-up people a chance to escape.

He just hopes that whoever just rang the doorbell isn't a friend of the man they've trussed up. One assassin, they can handle. Two? Maybe. But its' going to get farcical if every villainous fiend in the state descends en masse to Malone, New York looking for a poor little old writer.

* * *

Beckett approaches the front door, gliding softly. Her head and arms remain completely level to the ground, her bent knees absorbing the bounce of her normal stride. She's almost at the door when a shadowy fist comes up on the other side of the thick glass, pounding insistently. She's ashamed to say that the sound makes her entire body jolt. Then a voice follows the brisk knocking.

"Rick? You in there?"

She recognizes the voice instantly. Beckett lowers her gun and unlocks the door, swinging it open to reveal her father-in-WITSEC-law.

"The doorbell? Really?" she hisses. "It's two in the morning."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hunt says sarcastically. "I thought you might be glad to see me, seeing as you've got some company that needs dealing with."

"You scared the shit out of us - out of Castle," she amends. "We didn't think you'd be here so soon. It's only been an hour since we contacted you."

"Yeah, well, that's how long it takes when you fly."

Seriously? He flew here? He made them stowaway on an eighteen-wheeler and jump a train and hike for who knows how many miles, and then he just dashes up on the company leer jet? She might actually strangle the man.

Hunt pushes past her and heads straight for the kitchen. Either he's been watching them, he's been here before, or he's trained to predict where in a safe house they'd most likely tie up a prisoner. Beckett follows Hunt into the room. Castle nearly drops his gun when he sees his father.

"Keep your weapon trained on the detainee, Rick."

Hunt looks down at Mr. Average.

"Ah, hell," Hunt grumbles. "Tommy, good to see you again."

Their prisoner nods curtly.

"Wait, you know him?" Castle asks.

"'Course I know him. There's not a lot of hit men who are qualified to pick up work for the CIA. Tommy learned everything he knows from me. Which is obviously not much, if you two managed to corner him," Hunt says, tossing a teasing smile to the guy on the floor.

Castle's gaze flicks between the two men. He can sense an affable sort of camaraderie between them. "Tommy is a stupid name for a hit man," he spurts. The words fly out of his mouth before he has time to think about how childish it sounds. A flicker of confusion passes over Hunt's face. Kate's not confused though - Castle's craving for fatherly attention is painfully obvious to her, and she wonders how Hunt can miss it. Maybe all they pop-psych he learned at Quantico interfered with his ability to read some of the more basic emotions.

"Well," Hunt says slowly, trying to read the situation and continuing to fail miserably, "if it makes any difference, Tommy's professional nickname is The Silencer. Although I always thought that was a little cheesy. The good news is, we can stand down. He won't carry out the job if I tell him not too. Right?"

Tommy nods. Obviously there's some loyalty there, bred from what Beckett can't even imagine.

"The bad news," Hunt continues, "is that we need to get you two moving again." He reaches his pocket and pulls out a small clear box with a vial and a syringe inside.

Castle takes a wary step backwards and knocks into the plastic patio table in the process. But instead of coming for him, Hunt walks over to Tommy and crouches down.

"Sorry, buddy, I'm afraid you can't hear what I'm about to tell these two."

Tommy nods stoically, then Hunt plunges the syringe into his neck. The man's body goes limp, the color immediately draining from his face. He's unnaturally still, the kind of stillness Castle's only ever seen in death.

He gapes at his father, horrified. "Did you just - ?"

Hunt stares at him. "Just what?" he prompts.

"Kill him?" Castle squeaks.

"Don't be ridiculous. I just knocked him out, long enough for you two to get moving and for me to get him back to DC. He'll be fine. Mind if I make myself a cup of coffee?"

* * *

Hunt stirs his drink at the counter, his back turned to them. Castle glances at Beckett and has to do a double take, because she looks like a teapot that's about to let out an angry whistle. He feels a bit sorry for Hunt, because when she's like this, whatever comes out of his mouth next is usually what lights the fuse.

"I need to make some calls to set you up with a safe house on the other side of the border. You two get packed up. Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes."

Yep, and that would definitely do it. Castle cringes.

Beckett surges forward, exploding with wrath. Does this man have no feelings? Sure, she knows that being icy is an asset when you're in the CIA, but Hunt makes Fallon from the Department of Homeland Security look like a wet kitten.

She's about to grab Hunt's shoulder to spin him around to face her when Castle stops her, slinging an arm around her midsection. Most of the time, she loves how he can do that, how strong he is when he has to be, but right now she wants blood, and if she can't get to whoever's upturned their lives, she'll settle for the man who's directly responsible for their flight.

"Kate. Let's go upstairs, huh?" Castle meets her eyes, and she sees that endless blue-gray pool of understanding that makes her fall more deeply in love with him every time she sees it. She knows he's asking for a moment alone to talk to her, so she takes a deep breath and follows him.

* * *

Castle holds his finger to his lips until the door of their bedroom is firmly shut behind them.

"Please tell me you've come up with a brilliant plan to end all of this ridiculousness," Kate huffs, pacing in front of the fireplace.

"Unfortunately, no. But you looked um, a little bit ticked off when Hunt brought up Canada, so I wanted to make sure we're still on the same page about all this," Castle says, giving her his 'serious' look. "What are you thinking?"

He comes to her then, and she lets her head drop to his chest.

"I don't want to go to Canada, Castle." Her breath gathers warmly in the fabric of his shirt, right over his collarbone. "But I also don't want to put you in any more danger. I'm so sorry the library plan didn't work out."

"Hey," he soothes, "you did great. You were right about Alexis wearing her heart on her sleeve; I should have listened to you. But I think our bubble would have burst sooner or later. Let's face it, it's fun to play house out here, but neither of us are in our element. And as much as I'd love to spend all day every day doing nothing but being with you, I don't want to keep running either."

There's an idea that Kate's been turning over in her mind since seeing Alexis on the TV in the diner had shaken her partner to the core. At first, she'd thought it was insane, so she didn't mention it to him, but now it's starting to seem possible. It's just the sort of crazy Rick would come up with. A way to put an end to the running, to go home. They'll just have to convince Hunt, and it's going to take all of the skills she uses in the box to make it happen.

"Sit down, babe," she says, nudging Castle down onto the mattress. "I have an idea."

Ten minutes later, Castle walks into the kitchen and heads straight for his father, who's rattling off orders to someone on his cell. He gently pries the phone from Hunt's hand and presses a button to end the call.

"What the hell are you doing, Rick?"

"Kate and I have decided that we're not going to Canada."

"Don't be uncooperative, Rick, it's just a waste of time. Of course you're going. And this time, when you get to the safe-house, please try not to call home. You sent a big shiny beacon out to your hunters by contacting Burke."

Kate can almost see the steam coming out of Castle's ears. They've been so caught up with Tommy's little visit that they haven't dealt with the whole Hunt not telling Alexis they were okay thing. She rests her hand just above Castle's back belt loop to lend him some calm.

"Whatever went wrong with our call was my fault, not Castle's," she says. But she has to ask about how Tommy found them, because she thought they'd been so careful. "How did they track us? Was Burke's line bugged?"

"No, you were smart about it. They didn't know you'd made contact until Burke pulled Alexis aside at the event Black Pawn put together as a tribute to Rick. They had someone there watching her, and it didn't take a genius to read the relief on your little girl's face." He says it like Alexis isn't his only grandchild, like he didn't risk his own life to save her in Paris.

Castle has lost his color, pale as a sheet beside her.

"After that," Hunt continues, "all they had to do was look through Burke's call logs."

"But we masked the IP address," Kate says.

"And I'm sure they paid a tidy sum to whatever software developer you used to figure out where you were routed from. As much as I'd love to get into the details, the more pressing issue is how you think you're going to stay alive. Do you think you'll last even a day out of hiding?"

"Yeah, I do, actually. Look, Hunt, no disrespect, but we've tried this your way. It didn't work out, because it's not us. We don't lay low. We fight. So we need to know who put the hit on Castle."

"Look, if I tell you who - "

"I know, I know. I'll run straight at them," she says borrowing a line from the memory of a man she admires a hell of a lot more than the one standing in front of her. "And you're damn right I will. They don't deserve to keep hiding."

Hunt chuckles and looks at his son. "Hellcat, this one."

"Don't have to tell me," Castle says. "It's my favorite thing about her."

Beckett jingles a set of keys. Castle does a double take, because they're shinier than the ones for the pickup.

"You can either help us or not, Hunt. But I've got the keys to your car and trust me, if we have to leave this house without you, we will not be heading to Canada.

"Hmm. I expect I could get those back from you, but it's not worth the risk of any of us getting hurt. I was planning on telling you who ordered the hit anyway."

Castle gestures to the pair of chairs and Hunt and Beckett sit, dead across from one another. It's not the ideal environment for an interrogation. Instead of smooth cream-colored surface of the table in the box at the precinct, she clasps her hands loosely over the green plastic with mold in the grooves. And a man who's been thoroughly tranquilized just happens to be slumped a few feet away.

Castle stands close to Beckett's chair, hovering close to her, but she always leads, and this is no exception.

"So," Beckett levels her stare on Hunt. "The name."

"A man named Madison made the request. He doesn't usually choose targets directly, but I've worked for him before and it came through the same channels. Intelligence corroborated my guess."

"Madison? He got a first name?"

"Yeah, Joseph."

Kate cranes her neck to look up at Castle, who shakes his head. Neither of them have heard of a Joseph Madison, although it's not a very memorable name.

"Let me guess, he's a politician," Beckett says.

"Actually, he's an influential investment banker. Totally unassuming, complete with a darling southern blue-haired wife and a load of dogs. So no, he doesn't hold public office, but let's just say he holds the reins to a handful of people who do."

Of course. There's a reason the whole thing has felt so familiar.

"Would one of those people be Bracken, by any chance?" Beckett asks bitterly.

"I don't have any hard evidence, but looking at the patterns, yeah, I'd say so."

Castle's hand closes around the back of the chair so tightly that tremors run through the thin plastic and right into Kate's body. "I knew that bastard had something to do with this."

Kate ignores the outburst. "Patterns? What do you mean?"

"Bracken's little tricks - the way he laundered money, using men who used to be the hardest special forces agents and Marines to do his dirty work, the ways he kept his tracks covered, all of it - he didn't come up with those ideas by himself."

"So Bracken got the ideas from Madison?" Beckett asks.

"More than that. Madison _groomed_ him. But even Bracken didn't know his true identity. He only knew him as 'Cypselus'. The less educated goons in Madison's employ call him The Puppet Master."

"Catchy," Castle says sarcastically.

"Anyway, Cypselus is the keeper of a staggering stack of secrets that have been used for blackmail and control since this country was born in the state houses of Pennsylvania. Their tactics have evolved over time, and the mantel has been passed down through the most ruthless, hateful players in the field. Madison's at the top right now, and has been for decades. He decides who in Washington is corruptible, which of them are talented enough to invest in, and then he helps them rise. Like Bracken, his subordinates usually have a seriously compromised moral compass, and the ability to make it look like they're upstanding citizens."

"And you're sure Madison is Cypselus?" Castle asks. "We thought Vulcan Simmons was Lazarus, and it turned out to be Bracken. You're sure Madison is at the top of the food chain?"

"As sure as anyone can be. I'm probably the only person who knows his secret, except for the few people who work directly for him. I found out who he was in '86, when I took a job from him that was more personal than business."

"He had an emotional connection to the vic?" Beckett asks. When passion gets involved in a kill, things get messy.

"Exactly. While I was doing recon on the target, I connected the dots. I could only see the tip of the iceberg at the time."

"So what exactly do you have on him? Or is all of this just speculation?" Beckett asks, voice unforgiving. She's just so tired of all this bullshit.

"I collected a few souvenirs, just in case I needed an insurance policy against Cypselus in the future. I have some photos, and some recorded conversations, but it's all circumstantial, and would need to be verified. But as soon as he finds out they exist, he'll make sure no one will be able to get close enough to gather more information. Madison's system is the single most impenetrable operation in America, government organizations included."

"Okay, but what the hell is Madison's motive for all this?" Beckett asks.

"Ever the detective," Hunt says, then he shrugs. "Part of it's money, I'm sure. And, as cliché as it sounds, power. But I think most of the allure comes from the illicit thrill of lording over a very lethal web of secrets, of orchestrating a thousand illegal transactions while keeping up the front of being an honest, patriotic businessman. The way he sees it, he's preserving history, protecting our nation's heritage."

Castle remembers the case he and Beckett worked that reminded him of the _National Treasure_ movie, and his eyes light up at the idea of a secret faction. For a second he forgets just how much trouble Madison and the dominoes he's knocked over have caused. Just how close disaster has come to clattering over their lives.

Beckett switches tactics. She's done with extracting information, now she has to get Hunt to abandon his plans and help them with theirs.

"Do you love your son?"

"Uh, I'm not sure what you're getting at, Kate - "

"Do you. Love your son."

Hunt is silent.

"Because I think you do. I think you always wanted a family, and when you met Martha all those years ago, you couldn't believe it, but you were falling in love. For a moment, you let yourself dream of a picket fence life, and then you found out about Rick and you wondered what it would be like to teach your little boy how to serve a mean right hook, to pee standing up, maybe take him to the range to teach him how to handle a weapon. But someone higher up than you found out about your little one night stand, knew it would be bad for business, and sent you away. Am I right?"

"There was no way I could stay." Hunt looks up at Rick. "It would have put you and your mother in too much danger, you know that." Castle doesn't blink. He's not about to let his emotions get in the way of Beckett's line of questioning.

"So you didn't stay," Beckett continues. "But you watched your son. You kept an eye on him his whole life. He did learn how to shoot, and he's brilliant at it. Did you feel a little swell of pride when you found that out? Did you think maybe it was genetic, the way he can put a bullet in the center of the target's chest with one eye closed, after only taking a split-second's aim? And let's not forget that arm. Before he learned to use charm and humor to his advantage at boarding school, he was bullied, and he lost his temper a few times. He sent a few kids to the school nurse for stitches, and you kept the incursion reports to add to your brag book. He would have been a great agent."

Beckett's never said that to Castle before, and even though he doesn't fully agree, he's still touched by the compliment.

"But he became more, more than you could have ever expected. He crafted elaborate schemes involving crime and murder before seeing any of it up close. He learned how to create words and food and love, and he learned how to take care of the people in his life. You're proud of him. You love him."

Hunt's eyes shift to the side, almost embarrassed to admit it, or afraid, maybe. "Okay, yes, I love him. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"If you send Rick to Canada - if you keep him in hiding so you can smooth things over with Madison - he won't be Rick Castle anymore. We've been here for two days and he's already losing himself. And if you're stupid enough to think that Madison won't orchestrate some seemingly accidental plane crash or heart attack to sweep Castle off the board after you've made your little deal with him, you deserve less of my respect than you already have, and quite frankly, right now it's not much."

Beckett leans forward. "So, if you love him, you know that we can't keep hiding. You know we have to end whatever's going on with Madison."

"This isn't just about Rick, is it?"

"What do you mean? Of course it's just about Rick."

"It's about all the people _you_ want to save. All the people that Madison and his cohorts touched or ruined or will ruin."

Beckett bristles. She's not used to having the tables turned on her in interrogation.

"Sure, we can go with that, if that's what you want to think."

Hunt's about to speak, but Castle knows he can shut this down and get them back on track.

"Yes. It is about saving people, and it isn't just her that wants to save them. I do too. Any decent person would."

Beckett returns to her line of thought.

"I think you admire what Castle and I do. I think you'd never been prouder of us than when we put Bracken behind bars. Are you as sick of this shit as I am? Or are you happy to keep collecting a paycheck for killing innocent people?"

Hunt exhales, and for the first time, Beckett sees a chink in his armor. A broken note in his gravelly voice.

"Yeah, I am sick of it."

And then the words come, and for the first time, she knows she's seeing the man he really is.

"I'm too old for this shit," he mumbles. He leans forward and props his elbows on the table, pressing his fingers into his temples. Beckett can't help but notice how fragile his skin looks under the scruff of white hair on his chin. He can't have many more good years of work left in him.

"When I started working for the CIA, the job felt glamorous. Every gig I took was to take someone down who was doing horrendous things, true crimes against humanity. Sure, I had to kill people, but their deaths meant I could save thousands. And I was good at my job. Really good. So they started trusting me with more … sensitive hits. Personal ones. And somewhere along the line, the balance tipped, and before I could really get a grip on it, my hits were causing more harm than good.

"So yes, you're right. I couldn't be happier that someone finally took down Bracken. And I do love my son. And you've proven that you're a damn good interrogator. You got _me_ to confess my deepest, darkest feelings, and that, my dear, is no small feat. So where are you going with this, Kate? Hmm?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but Hunt cuts her off.

"Let me guess. You want me to give you the evidence I have?"

"Uh, actually, yes."

"And what, may I ask, are you planning to do with it?"

"I want to take this guy down. Bust the whole ring."

"There's no 'ring.' It's not a mob. These people are so loosely connected to one another it'd take years to figure out who's been drinking from the poisoned chalice."

"So we'll start with Madison. The thing is, getting closure for my mom's case - I haven't ever felt anything like that. But when it comes down to it, I shouldn't have had to feel that liberation, that relief, because I shouldn't have lost her in the first place. Not like that. Her case shouldn't have pulverized me for so many years, I shouldn't have taken a bullet to the heart, I shouldn't have almost lost the one man who can love me the way I need to be loved, just because I was too twisted to be happy. These people are ending lives to make _money_," Beckett bites, shaking her head disgustedly, "or to win elections, and their victims have no one fighting for them. I'm a good homicide detective, but there are dozens more working all over the city. No one is going after Madison, and I think we might be the only ones who can."

"You do know that if I give you the evidence, I'll never be able to step foot on US soil again, right? They could make it look like treason, sell it as me pawning off government secrets. That is, if Madison doesn't just decide to hire people to torture the fuck out of me first."

"They tried to kill your son for writing a _book. _It's gone too far."

Hunt leans back and Beckett's heart sinks. She did her best, but he's not going for it.

And then he says "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, yes I'll do it. Isn't that what you wanted me to say?"

Beckett flashes back to her first real interrogation, to how she'd been flooded with unexpected relief. She'd watched as the criminal in front of her broke down, pushing his pen across the confession she'd drawn up, and she'd gone back to her desk to fill in the rest of the paperwork in a stunned daze, amazed that her words and questions had teased the truth out.

She's stunned again, because she didn't truly think she'd be able to convince her father-in-law to hop on board with her scheme.

"Get your asses upstairs to pack then," Hunt says with a small smile. "We still need to move, but we can take the helicopter back to New York. We can stop and pick up the recordings and documents on the way."

"Right." Kate nudges Castle towards the door, a little giddy with their triumph. There are still a lot of details to work out, but it's something she and Castle can do together. For the first time in days, they have a meaningful task ahead of them, and it feels as exhilarating as building theory with her partner.

They're almost out of the room when Hunt calls out to them. "Oh, but Kate? If I'm not allowed in the country, how am I going to meet my other grandkids?"

For a second, it doesn't compute, and then she gets it.

"You're resourceful, I'm sure you've got a nice place set up abroad for your retirement," she smiles. "We'll visit."

* * *

_Author's Note: Whew, that was a mammoth chapter. Thoughts?_

_Also, if you're feeling the need for some refreshing fluff after all this drama and dialogue, have a quick read of my new one-shot, Enough Space for a Heartbeat, which won second place in the Castle Summer Hiatus Contest! - Bri x_


	19. And the Balance Tips

_Author's Note: I am so sorry I haven't had time to respond to your __reviews from the last two chapters. There are a lot of them! But that's no excuse, and I shall get to them before the next chapter goes up on Thursday. It doesn't mean I don't truly appreciate every single one of them. Thank you all for sharing your thoughts with me. Here are some more of mine, for your entertainment pleasure. -Bri x_

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**  
And the Balance Tips

* * *

The helicopter isn't too far away from the house, but to save time Hunt suggests they take the truck. Naturally, Beckett insists on driving. Hunt raises a questioning brow and Castle just shrugs.

"She likes being in control," he says.

Kate rewards him with a lascivious wink over the hood of the truck.

After a short drive, Hunt tells Beckett to pull over on the side of an unlit back road. Castle gives their trusty red pickup a grateful pat goodbye. He starts off after his dad, then jerks to a halt. He spins around, darting back to wipe his handprint off the hood. Just in case.

They pick their way through the forest for a good ten minutes before the trees clear, revealing a wide glade with a helicopter sitting in the center, obediently waiting for them. Beckett was expecting some sleek black thing with the CIA logo emblazoned on the side, but the aircraft is a glossy dark green with yellow and black bands. It's obviously Hunt's personal helicopter - a shiny leisure craft that must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. It reminds her of a wasp - its rounded glass windshield look just like huge bug eyes.

"I take it knocking people off pays pretty well?" she asks.

"I do okay," Hunt grumbles.

Castle and Beckett cross the clearing with long, perfectly matched strides. The sound of Hunt's feet meeting the ground pounds out a discordant beat, keeping to a completely different rhythm from theirs.

Hunt unlocks the helicopter door and gestures for them to climb in. Castle pauses with one foot on the metal foothold.

"Uh - guys? I forgot to go to the bathroom back at the cabin. How long is this flight going to take?"

"A couple of hours."

"I'll just - you know - "

"Go, Castle," Beckett says, and he immediately scampers off for the tree line.

She can't help but giggle at his receding form.

"You sure you want to do this?" Hunt asks, his voice breaking her smile in half.

She turns, voice hard. "I'm sure."

"I'd feel a lot better if we could get him across the border," Hunt mumbles in a last ditch effort to change their minds. Beckett bristles, taking his comment as an insinuation that she doesn't have Castle's best interests in mind.

"Let me be very clear. If I thought that going back out and fighting meant that I'd lose him, I would happily follow him to Canada. But you said it yourself. We just have to make it to morning, and then we'll be safe."

Castle jogs back to them and they climb in. Kate's in the front seat, and she watches as Hunt powers up the engine and starts adjusting the multitude of switches and dials. Seconds later, the rotor blades thrum to life above them. She looks into the backseat to check on Castle. She should have known he'd be like a kid in a candy shop, watching his father intently even though she knows he's been in helicopters before. He's sitting in the middle, stretching his legs out on the bench seat. They had discussed bringing the unconscious Tommy along, but Hunt assured them he'd be able to get back to DC on his own. They'd cut his bindings and left him in a limp heap on the kitchen floor, and Castle has the backseat all to himself.

The helicopter rises, and Kate's stomach lurches forward. She doesn't mind airplanes, and she's ridden in police choppers a few times, but she hasn't been in one since Maddox threw her off the side of a building. Unsurprisingly, she's distinctly less comfortable with heights these days. Besides, the NYPD helicopters definitely don't have a thin layer of glass right under her feet instead of nice safe metal. She can see the ground receding beneath her as they lift off. She grits her teeth and forces herself to look forward.

And then Hunt pushes one of the joysticks forward, and the helicopter buzzes away from Malone. The night passes by underneath them, the dark rolling forests of rural New York occasionally giving way to a cluster of lights. The street lamps of the cities they fly over are bright constellations that match the stars overhead.

Beckett chews on her lip and stares at her reflection in the glass. Her skin is tinted green from the instruments on the control panel. She needs to be thinking about their plan, but the headset Hunt gave her to wear isn't doing much to drown out the beating pulse of the blades overhead or the roar of the piston engine directly behind the backseat.

After an hour, Hunt adjusts the joysticks and the helicopter starts to descend. There's not a light in sight, so they must be miles from any town. Beckett watches as the ground comes up to meet her, imagining the varying degrees of injuries she would sustain if the engine failed. At ten meters, she'd have a broken spine and a transected aorta. At three meters, shattered legs. One, a sprained ankle. Finally, the rails on the bottom of the chopper touch the ground, and nearly-visible currents of air flatten the grass in a wide circle around them.

Hunt kills the engine and twists in his seat.

"Okay, I'm gonna go get the evidence. Stay in the helicopter."

"Where are we?" Castle asks.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're very nosy?"

"Yeah, I get that all the time, actually. Are we still in New York? We were flying south, right?"

Hunt sighs. "We're in Pennsylvania. That's all you need to know."

"So what, you buried the evidence the middle of the woods?"

"Something like that," Hunt grins, then he hops out, landing on the ground gracefully.

Castle watches as his father walks away from the helicopter. His eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, and when they do, he can just make out a strange rectangular shape. It's not big enough to be a building, but he sees Hunt pull open what looks like a door and disappear into a square of black.

"Oh my God, Beckett. I think my dad just went into a nuclear fallout shelter."

"What?" Kate squints into the darkness. "Don't be ridiculous, Castle."

"Look!" His vision is sharpening by the second. "There's a huge metal door, and a sloping concrete tunnel leading to it. It's totally a bomb shelter."

"Okay, even if it is a bomb shelter, which I highly doubt, why are you so excited?"

"Why am I excited? Are you kidding? There might be_ remains _down there, Beckett."

"Uh, in case you hadn't noticed, there hasn't been an apocalyptic event to force anyone into hiding out here."

"That you know of." Castle's eyes sparkle. "What do you say, Kate?"

"Say to what?"

"You know what. Let's go check out the bomb shelter."

"Unlike some people, I don't have any problem staying in the car when I'm told to do so," she says.

"Suit yourself. I'll take pictures - oh wait, I can't. No phone." Castle grins, then he opens the helicopter door and takes off towards the massive metal door.

"Castle, get back here - ugh," she trails off, knowing her words will have absolutely no effect on him when he's like this. She settles back against her seat and crosses her arms. Her resolve lasts all of a second before she has to follow her partner. She's not curious at all, no. She's just being a good partner. You know, having Castle's back and all.

She catches up to him a few yards from the entrance. It actually does look like it could be a bomb shelter, but she's not about to admit it. Hunt left the door ajar, and Castle has to brace his feet against the frame in order to push it open. It's at least a foot thick, and feels like solid steel. There are even gigantic rivets. It looks like a set from a movie.

Once inside, Beckett clicks on her flashlight, illuminating the curved walls of a corrugated steel tunnel. There are shelves lining both sides, stocked with tins and boxes of varying shapes and sizes. Castle fiddles with a few, then holds one under the flashlight beam.

"No. Way. Beckett, look!"

"What?" she asks, peering at what looks like an unmarked metal sardine can in his hands.

"It's crackers, and they expired in 1964! This is totally a Cold War bunker!" he whispers delightedly.

Beckett waves her flashlight around.

"You could actually be right about that, Castle."

"Of course I'm right."

She hears a little pop and a hiss, and spins around.

"What are you doing?"

Castle freezes with a cracker halfway into his open mouth. "Uh … I wanted to see what they taste like?"

"Put the cracker down and step away from the food, Castle," she says with an amused lilt.

"Aw, come on, Beckett, one bite won't kill me."

"You're probably right, but I'd rather not have to hold your hair back while you get sick all over the inside of the helicopter. Maybe if we were at home with a stack of washcloths and your special puke bowl, but not out here, okay? Besides, don't you want to see the rest of the bunker before your dad catches us?"

Castle brightens and sets the cracker box carefully back on the shelf.

"Why, yes, indeed I do."

They make their way to the end of the tunnel. It seems like only one long room, and it's not really very big. Beckett wonders if the shelter was intended for just one family, like the storm cellar in The Wizard of Oz. But if this is all there is, where exactly did Hunt go?

Just as she's asking herself the question, Castle points to a rectangular hatch in the floor. He bends to open it before she can stop him.

There's a short staircase leading to a landing, lit with a faint glow of artificial light.

"Can we please? Pretty please?"

"Fine, yes Castle, go down." She figures there's no point in pretending they didn't follow Hunt; he's bound to see them when he comes back from getting his files.

She's not entirely prepared for what she sees at the bottom of the short flight of stairs. There's a large circular hole in front of them, with a spiral staircase that cuts down into the earth. Really, _really_ far down into the earth. She inches towards the edge and looks down into a pit that must be twenty stories deep. The spiral staircase has exits every ten feet or so, and she can see the dim emergency lights above the doors on each 'floor.' It's like they're suddenly on the top floor of a cylindrical hotel.

"This is _so_ awesome," Castle whispers. "It is _totally_ a Cold War bunker."

"Didn't I tell you to say in the chopper?" Hunt's voice booms from behind them, echoing off the hard steel walls.

Castle spins around. "How did you - ?"

"Well, just don't tell anybody about this, okay? And don't write about it. The last thing I need is you setting off some trend to buy land with nuclear fallout shelters."

"Dude, are there more?" Castle asks excitedly. "I want one. Can you put me in touch with your realtor?"

"Maybe for your next birthday."

"That would be so awesome. Wouldn't that be awesome, Beckett?"

Beckett rolls her eyes.

Hunt nods down at the metal box he's got tucked under his arm. "I have the tapes and the documents, so let's get going, eh? Don't forget to turn the lights off on your way out."

* * *

It's nearly four in the morning when Hunt sets the helicopter down just outside Newark, New Jersey in an abandoned parking lot between two massive warehouses. They walk for a few blocks, just to put some distance between themselves and the helicopter, and then they stop under a flickering streetlamp.

Hunt pulls out his phone and makes a quick call, turning his back to them and meandering a few yards away. Castle pulls Beckett to him. He's shaking ever so slightly, probably a combination of hunger and the adrenaline that's building up. They're about to get to the climax of this story, he can feel it.

Hunt turns back to them and pockets his phone. "I hate cabs. Guy says they won't be here for another twenty minutes."

"Okay, Castle," Beckett says, "that's enough time to call your guy."

When she'd laid out her idea for her partner, she explained that in order for their plan to work, they'd need as much immediate live media exposure as possible. He'd instantly responded with "I know a guy."

So Castle borrows Hunt's phone, calls 411, and gets patched through to the offices of one of the three major news broadcasters in Manhattan, and from there he requests to speak to the Executive Producer. Solving cases for WHNY and Temptation Lane had earned him a new poker buddy, and Grayson Yates just so happens to run a massive media network.

"Grayson, hi, it's Rick Castle," he says when the call connects, oozing charm. It reminds Kate of the Castle she met six years ago, when he was always hobnobbing and tossing out witty quips at expensive restaurants.

"Yes, well, I'm very much alive, and if that in itself isn't the story of a lifetime, I've got one that's even better. Actually, I need to break it on your morning news. Yes, today. It's incredibly urgent, and if you don't take the scoop, I'll have to go to Upton with it," he bluffs, even though he doesn't personally know the exec of Yates' rival company.

"Okay, yes. We'll be there in half an hour. Yes, I have the interviewee with me now. Can you call the 12th precinct and ask for as many as people they can spare to come over to provide extra security? The person that wants to speak to you is being targeted by some very dangerous people, and I need you to put your building on lockdown. Whoever's already in for work, don't let them leave, and search everyone who comes in."

Castle looks at Beckett to see if she wants to convey anything else, but she shakes her head.

"Listen, we have to go. Just get ready for us, okay? I can't tell you what it's about over the phone, but as soon as we get there I can speak to you, and you don't have to air it if you don't think it's juicy enough. But trust me, I don't think you'll be disappointed."

Castle snaps the phone closed and hands it back to Hunt.

When the taxi finally arrives, Kate folds herself into it, almost melting into the seat. Just a few more hours and she can get some sleep.

Castle slides in beside her and she doesn't bother moving all the way over, she just leans into him and lets him hold her. Hunt's riding in the front with the cab driver, and she's thankful for the moment of privacy it affords them.

"Kate?" Castle whispers her name into her forehead. "Are you sure this is what you want? If we do this, our lives will never be the same."

"At least we'll _be_ alive, Castle. And hopefully we'll save some lives in the process."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yeah, a little. But this isn't like that stupid documentary we were on. I'll sit in front of a camera and talk if it means we get some justice."

"Ooh, say that again, it's very superhero of you."

"Shut up, Castle," she says fondly, nudging his shoulder with her nose. He leans down and finds her mouth with his, pressing his lips hard into hers. She's extraordinary, and it's extraordinary, what she's about to do.

When she leans back, she's a little off-balance, and she smiles embarrassedly at herself before occupying herself with staring out the window. Her eyes drift closed for a moment, and he can't take his eyes off her.

He almost thinks she's asleep when she speaks. "Um, Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you help me figure out what to say?"

"Katherine Beckett, are you asking me to write you a speech?"

"God, I know. My dad's going to be so disappointed. I never thought I'd become a politician."

"I did."

"You did not."

"Okay, maybe not until Simon Doyle suggested it. After all, he's got good intel, being from the future and all."

"Don't get ahead of yourself there, Castle. I'm not running for the Senate. I just want to try and jump start some sort of formal investigation."

"Well, in any case, I'd be happy to be your official speech writer. After all, I do have some experience working with words. It's only a hobby, really," he teases.

"There's one other thing, Castle …" she says slyly.

"Anything for you, Senator Beckett."

"We kind of need to get married for real … because I'm going to need some serious money."

"Hey. Married or not, Beckett, I would be proud to finance your campaign. But I'd prefer it if you made an honest man out of me, so yeah. Let's get hitched."

As they cross the bridge into Manhattan, she can feel the balance tipping. Her life is about to change in a staggering way, and she suddenly feels very small, overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibilities she's about to take on. But it was her idea, and honestly, it's the only choice.

She has to do this; they have to do this. They're the only ones who can.

Castle reaches for her hand and squeezes.

With him at her side, she's strong.

With him at her side, she can do anything.


	20. Daybreak

_._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**  
Daybreak

* * *

Kate shivers. She hasn't been in an air-conditioned building in days, and they've got the newsroom set to morgue-standard temperatures. She tries to concentrate on the papers in front of her, the speech written in Castle's slanted capitals that is minutes away from being delivered to the world. Castle and his dad are getting food from the canteen, so she's alone. Less than twenty minutes ago, the three of them had arrived outside the towering skyscraper, climbing out of their cab directly into the waiting arms of two patrol cops on loan from the 12th. Now she's seven floors above Broadway, mentally preparing herself for what she's about to unleash.

Through the thick windows behind her the horizon is just starting to brighten. The sky turns into a dewy watercolor painting of pink and orange, and even though she knows the colors are from the haze of pollution hanging over the skyline, the sight makes her nostalgic. She's happy to be back in Manhattan.

On her other side is the bustling insanity of a New York City newsroom just before the morning broadcast. She's cocooned in a bubble of silence, separated from the rest of the floor by another wall of glass. There's too much glass. Kate instinctually rolls her chair to the corner of the room, putting a heavy metal filing cabinet between her and the outside world. Just in case. She has to live long enough to break this story.

Grayson Yates is on the prowl, pacing up and down a bank of desks and computers that reminds Kate of the command center at NASA. She let Castle do most of the talking during their meeting with the network exec. It hadn't lasted long, and after hearing their story, Yates burst out of his office barking orders. His employees have been fizzing every since. Every phone line is in use and fingers are flying over keyboards. They're doing some last minute digging on Joseph Madison before the impromptu press conference.

A few familiar faces guard the elevator doors, beat cops in their crisp navy blue uniforms, standing in solidarity for Detective Beckett and her partner. She knows that Kevin and Javier are downstairs on the street. They'd refused to take anything but the front line to protect their friends. There's no question in her mind that Madison knows exactly where they are, but hopefully he doesn't know what she's about to do, and if she can just get on the air and speak her piece, the world will crash down on him before he can get to her.

Castle slides into the office with a steaming cup of coffee and a plump cream cheese Danish on a napkin.

"Maybe we need to consider a career change. The buffet out there is seriously amazing, Beckett," he says around what she assumes is his last bite of a cherry Danish, if the smudge of pink on his lower lip is anything to go by. She stands and kisses the sweet stickiness away.

Castle stands there stupidly for a moment, letting Kate's tongue flick naughtily over the corner of his mouth, and then he sets the food down on the desk and pulls her roughly into him. But just as he's about to deepen their kiss, there's a perfunctory knock on the door. His dad bursts in without waiting for a response, pale-faced and more on edge than Castle's ever seen him.

"You're mother is the building," he says. "And Alexis." In the cab ride over, Castle called a private security firm to pick the two women up and bring them to the studio. He doesn't want them finding out about everything on the morning news, and he just wants to be close to them now that he's home.

"I, uh, think I'd better make myself scarce," Hunt says. He doesn't wait for acknowledgement, just turns and leaves, disappearing neatly into the throng of journalists.

"Huh," Castle speculates. "Secret agent and ruthless assassin, yet mortally afraid of my mother. Can't say I blame him."

And then he sees the elevator doors slide open and his heart does a funny twirl in his chest.

Alexis bounds out of the elevator as soon as there's a gap wide enough for her to fit through, and then she runs full-force at her father. He's not exactly being slow about making his way across the room to her, either. Castle scoops her up and spins her around, and when he sets her down, she refuses to let go.

"Daddy," she whispers. "I love you, Daddy. I'm so glad - " she breaks off, burying her face in his shoulder, her body jerking with broken breaths. She's getting tears and drool all over him, but he doesn't care, because his eyes are pink and he can barely see through the blur of tears. He inhales the clean, green apple scent of his daughter's shampoo, then snuffles around until he finds the spot at the crown of her head where she'll always smell like a brand new infant to him. She doesn't even pull back to give him the teenage eye-roll, just clings tighter.

"I'm so sorry, Alexis, I'm so sorry. Forgive me." Castle looks up at his mother and sees a single tear tracking down through the makeup on her cheek. He's never seen her cry. Not even when Chet died. Well, except for onstage. He's seen her cry _a lot _onstage.

"Come here, Mother," he says, pulling her in so that they're sandwiching Alexis.

"Richard, I hope you're planning on telling us what on earth has been going on, but for now, I'll just say that I'm very, very glad that you're okay," Martha says, her voice husky. "And where is Katherine? Is she alright?"

Kate. Yes. She's part of this family too. He turns his head to find her watching from the office, a longing little smile on her face. He jerks his head, beckoning her over, and she comes to them nervously. After all, she'd advocated skipping town and keeping Alexis in the dark. They're both going to need forgiving.

Martha wraps her up in a perfumed hug before she can say anything.

"You brought him back. Bless you, Katherine, you brought him back to us."

Well, only after she helped him to run for several hundred miles in the other direction first. They'll have time to sit down and explain everything later, for now, they just need to heal, to be together and whole.

"Um, Mrs - Miss - uh, Beckett?" A bespectacled young man approaches shyly, clutching a clipboard to his chest. Castle's been on enough movie sets to recognize a brand new intern, and he doesn't blame the poor kid for being nervous about approaching his gorgeous partner. If he's stuttering now, when Kate's wearing a baggy sweatshirt and running low on sleep, he'd have no chance with a well-rested and well-dressed Beckett.

"Um, I've been sent to show you to hair and makeup? We're going live in twenty minutes."

"It's okay, I'll just go on like this," Kate says dismissively. "Thank you though."

"Um, Mr. Yates said you might say that, and he said to tell you that 'you're a politician now and that people will be judging you all the time,'" the kid relays nervously.

"Excuse me?" she bites out. "I've just been on the run for four days, after finding my fiancé's car on fire in a ditch, trying to hide from a power-hungry jackass who's too afraid to confront us himself. And I'm not a politician, I'm a cop, so no, I won't be getting glammed up for this."

Castle lays a friendly hand on the kid's shoulder and tries to diffuse the situation. "Detective Beckett just wants the public to know exactly what's happened to us over the past few days, to show how much we've been through to get here." He turns to Kate. "Do you need to use the bathroom or anything though? Run a hot washcloth over your eyes?"

God, he knows her. And she'd be pissed at him if a hot washcloth didn't sound like heaven right now. So she lets the intern lead her to the dressing rooms and leaves her partner to reconnect with his daughter.

* * *

Alexis is clinging. It's lovely, but they're minutes away from the broadcast, and as much as his daughter needs him, Kate needs him too.

"Sweetie, you should really get some breakfast, you look like you haven't been eating enough. Can you get me another strawberry Danish? I'm just going to go check on Kate," he says gently, bracing himself for an outburst. But Alexis just nods quietly and sniffles her way to the canteen, arm linked in Martha's. The two of them have always been close, but he can tell they're even closer now, after what the last few days have served them.

Castle picks his way through the bustle of journalists to find the quieter corridor of dressing rooms. Officer Hastings is standing guard over the main hallway.

"Officer Hastings, hi!" Castle shares a broad conspiratorial grin with her. He and Kate should really ask Ann and her boyfriend out on a double date. Writers and Muses. And he would be totally okay with it if Kate decided to become a masked vigilante. Hell, he'd help design her outfits.

"Hey, Castle, it's great to see you. I just talked to Detective Beckett and assured her that we've got the place on lockdown. Gates sent everyone she could spare, and it looks like she called in a favor with the 54th as well."

Something's just a little off about that statement, and Castle feels the creeping fingers of premonition inch up the back of his neck.

"What do you mean, the 54th? I only asked for officers from the 12th," Castle says.

"Oh, well, it's just that I don't recognize the guy by the stairwell," she says, nodding to the emergency exit door at the end of the hall, "or the woman guarding Beckett's dressing room around the corner. But don't worry, Castle, I'm sure Gates just called in a favor to get more uniforms."

But after all the ridiculous things that have happened to them, Castle is absolutely going to worry. He tries to toss a quick glance towards the man by the stairs, but he's obviously not subtle enough, because he's met with a hard, questioning look.

And then the man draws a gun and takes aim.

Directly at Castle's chest.

Dread settles thickly over his limbs. He's usually better in these situations, but for some reason, right now, he simply can't move. He's just so tired. And surprised. He thought they were safe. Almost safe.

As close as he's been to danger in the past few days, nothing has been as real as being two yards away from the bleak void he sees at the end of the man's gun. The air around him wavers and slows, and when the man switches his thumb over the safety catch and flexes his index finger to fire, Castle wonders if he has enough time to yell out stupidly that he loves Kate. His daughter. His mother. Instead he whispers to himself, _they know._ They know.

There's a sharp crack as flint meets steel, as spark meets gunpowder, and then everything goes silent.

Castle took a bullet to the vest last year, and he's surprised at how much softer the pressure is now that it's real. Muted. And then he falls heavily to the floor, and the lightbulb above him pulls into sharp focus, as if he's trying to hold on to every last detail.

The vacuum of silence erupts into chaotic noise, and Castle wonders why there isn't any pain yet. If there's no pain, does that mean he's already gone? How many more milliseconds will his brain last before it shuts down? But through the bending weave of sound, he hears his dad's voice, louder than everything else.

"Don't move, Rick."

Castle cranes his neck - should he be able to do that if he's almost dead? - and he realizes why the weight on his chest is soft and warm and painless. His father is laying across him.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

"Oh, you know, just saving your life. Again," Hunt grunts.

Castle snaps back to awareness, out of the surreal speculation of a near-death experience, and sees dark red liquid spreading slowly through the fabric of his father's shirt.

Holy shit. Did his father just take a bullet for him?

His father just took a bullet for him.

The way Castle tried to do for Beckett three years ago.

Hunt drops limply over his son's body. "I love you, son. Sorry I've been such an ass." He grimaces then waits for the next bullet to come.

It doesn't.

Castle raises his head slowly, looking cautiously over his father's shoulder. The man who shot him is still standing, staring blankly at them. Then he coughs once and a fine mist of blood sprays through the air. He crumples and falls forwards.

His first thought is _Kate_. He didn't hear a second gunshot, but he was a little busy getting sentimental with his dad. She must have come out of her dressing room and shot the guy.

A woman's hand wraps around Hunt's bicep and starts to pull him up. It's not Kate. It's the other unfamiliar beat cop, the one who was guarding Beckett's door. Hunt sees her and … smiles?

"Dad, no, she's in on it too." Castle panics, tugging on his father's other arm, eliciting a heavy groan of pain.

"No, she's not." He nods weakly at the weapon in the woman's hand, its muzzle elongated by a graceful silencer. She's the one who saved their lives.

"Castle? Are you hurt?" Kate yells out, voice rough with the kind of panic he only hears when he's in danger. Castle rolls out from under his dad and sees Kate's gun peeking around the corner.

"I'm okay. You can come out, I think. Keep your gun on the woman though. Just in case."

Beckett sidesteps out into the hallway, gun trained on her target, taking in the situation. Judging by the noise coming from the newsroom, no one has figured out where the shots were fired yet, but they will soon.

The woman with the silencer must be thinking the same thing. "J, we need to leave. Now."

Castle just _loses_ it then. He fires a line of questions at his dad. "J? Is that short for Jackson? Who the hell is this woman? Do you know _everyone_?"

"Not everyone. Not him," Hunt says, gesturing to the lifeless body sprawled on the floor. "But Julianne, yeah, I know."

"Now. Come on, J," the woman warns. She's not exactly beautiful, but she's impressive, and she looks foreign, Eastern European maybe. Not a trace of an accent, though. When she helps his father up, Castle thinks he sees a certain familiarity between them. Something he used to daydream about seeing between his dad and mom.

"Wait," Castle blurts. His father is about to disappear again, just like he has twice before, and even though he expected it this time, it's still painful.

"Dad, you need a hospital."

"Bullet's in my shoulder, luckily. Julianne's an expert at getting them out. I'll live," he smiles.

"Will we see you again?" Castle asks weakly.

"I hope so. I'll get settled and let you know when you can come visit. Now, get this story on the air as soon as you can."

Julianne helps him limp down the hallway. Just before they disappear into the stairwell, Hunt looks back at them and winks.

* * *

Kate slides stiffly into one of the two chairs that have been set up in front of a long white table. They're in the sports press conference room, and there's a row of microphones in front of her. Everything is starkly white.

Castle sits down beside her and slides his palm over her thigh. She reaches for the glass of water that's been placed in front of her, and he notices that her fingers are twitching. She's so brave for doing this, even though she hates being on camera.

The room buzzes with journalists. They greet one another cordially, shaking hands and taking seats, setting up their own recording devices, and staring curiously at Castle and Beckett. Yates invited reporters from every other major news station. He'll be the first to break the live feed with video, then they'll go back to their own stations to do their own follow-ups.

And then suddenly the room is full, and everyone is sitting down, waiting patiently. It's almost time. The floor manager comes over to them and asks them if they're okay, then scuttles off behind the camera line to countdown. "We're live in five … four …" then she holds up three fingers, then two, then one.

Kate stares silently into the camera for a moment. Somewhere, Joseph Madison is watching, and she hopes he feels like the ceiling is collapsing on him.

Courage gathers in her like a brewing storm. She sits a little straighter and begins to speak.

"I am Detective Kate Beckett. For the past four days, I have been considered a missing person. Four days ago, my partner Richard Castle was declared dead in what was reported as a tragic accident. On my wedding day, I found his car - my _fiancé's_ car - burning in a ditch. As you can see, he is actually alive, by no small amount of effort on our parts. We've been on the run trying to hide from the person who wanted so desperately to end his life."

"Just minutes ago, another attempt was made on Castle's life, in this very news studio, so before another bullet is fired, I will tell you that the name of the person who has sent assassin after assassin after us is called Joseph Madison. In the coming days, I'm sure Mr. Madison will say any number of things to refute my claims, but I have documents and recordings that prove a handful of his many crimes, all of which have been copied, vaulted, and will be aired live to the nation in the next few minutes.

"If Mr. Castle or I, or any of our family members, disappear or die from seemingly natural circumstances later this week, month, or year, please turn your attention onto Joseph Madison and his subordinates.

"For those of you wondering what a novelist could have possibly done to anger Mr. Madison, in this instance it was simply writing the next Nikki Heat book, which has some fictionalized speculation about corruption in government. Just a few weeks ago, Senator William Bracken was arrested for murdering my mother, amongst many other crimes. I thought that Bracken was acting alone, and that by incarcerating him, Washington would be a safer and more just place. We now have intelligence that Mr. Madison is linked to Bracken, and that there are many more like him holding public office.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm living in a television show, because this kind of unprovoked violence is something that I didn't think happened in the real world. As many of you know, I'm a homicide detective with the 12th precinct, and I have no delusions as to the potential darkness of human nature. But in homicide, we can fairly reliably attribute murders to a handful of motives - money, love, the need to cover up another crime, or, rarely, mental instability. The idea of doing something for _power_ is the motivation you'd expect to find in a comic book villain, but apparently it's something that is becoming an increasingly dangerous problem in our own government.

"So that's why I have decided to hang up my badge. Solving homicides has been my life for the last decade, but if I can make a difference elsewhere, if I can root out all who have been involved in Madison's crimes, every politician who has ordered a _hit_ to get someone out of their way into office, I will happily take up that mantel.

"I realize that in doing this, I've probably severely shortened my life expectancy, but these people cannot continue to operate in the shadows. The only thing that can keep my family safe now is sharing our knowledge with every citizen of this country. I hope you'll agree with me in the opinion that killing innocent people is wrong. I hope you'll support me in my endeavor to end this. I have some ideas about how to correct the injustices, and you'll be hearing from me again in the coming days, but for now I'll turn it over to the staff here to explain the situation more clearly than I can. Thank you."

The room erupts with flashes of light and applause.

Beckett is dizzy with it.

The following weeks will be the hardest ones of her life. But beside her, beaming with pride, is a great, good, generous man, who understands exactly why she needs to do this. Who _wants_ to do this with her. And that's more than she could have ever asked for.

He leans over and whispers a question into her ear after the room full of journalists have asked theirs.

_"__Katherine Beckett, will you marry me tonight?"_

She nods, because it feels more right than it ever has. The little girl inside her that used to sneak into her mother's closet to try on her white satin peep-toe heels radiates with light.

And just before midnight, in the mahogany-walled office of Mayor Robert Weldon, she finally marries Richard Castle.

* * *

_Epilogue still to come._


	21. Epilogue

.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**  
Epilogue

* * *

The loft is quiet when they creep in just before midnight, awash in the golden glow of one table lamp.

Castle takes his wife's coat and hangs it next to his in the closet by the front door. Then he watches as she walks to the kitchen to retrieve two pint-sized tubs of Ben and Jerry's from the freezer, her hips swinging enticingly as her heels clack softly on the hardwood. He's struck dumb by his good fortune to have her here, to be with her _here_. Back where they began.

Being at the loft is like stepping back in time; it's exactly as they left it, from the calla lilies on the piano to the miniature Brooklyn Bridge on the table behind the couch. Their permanent home is two hundred miles away now, in the middle of Washington D.C.'s cultural casserole. He knows that Kate loves their Georgetown house and the history that comes with a building that was built in 1875, but the loft in New York will always be their heart's home, so they've kept it. It comes in handy for when they have campaign events to attend in Manhattan, like the one they've been to tonight.

Castle comes up behind Kate in the kitchen, not bothering to take off his own polished dress shoes by the door. He slides his hands around her waist, settling them over her hipbones. She works too hard, so many long hours, and he can feel her bones jutting into his palms. The ice cream will do them both good.

She's wearing a navy blue pantsuit and a crisp white shirt. It's a throwback to her wardrobe when she worked for the Attorney General, but this time her hair is down, long and loose instead of a harsh bun or a slick ponytail. She's not wearing any jewelry save for the diamonds on her left ring finger. The other women at the event tonight were bedecked in sequined evening gowns and rented jewels, but Kate had still been the most staggeringly beautiful woman in the room, and Castle was proud to be on her arm. He likes to think she's glad to have him there. It's like the saying goes … behind every successful woman is a charismatic, goofy, entertaining man. Okay, so maybe that's not the exact saying, but Kate's popularity amongst her donors has a lot to do with her husband's warmth and ability to socialize with absolutely everyone.

He captures a ribbon of her hair and twists it around his finger, letting the cool silk wind against his skin.

"You're the most beautiful Senator that ever walked the halls of Washington, you know."

"Mmm, so you tell me," she whispers back.

And she will be for another six years, because tonight the votes were tallied and she won the election for her second term by a landslide. Just like the first time. She's become quite the people's hero, known for her single-minded determination to root out corruption. She's not terribly well-liked by some of her fellow politicians, but some of her allies won their elections tonight as well, so she won't be fighting by herself this term. The tables are turning in Washington, and Castle likes to think it's wholly because of his extraordinary wife. For her upcoming term, she has plans to implement a dozen new security measures that will mean financial records like Bracken's Lazarus accounts can't be falsified as easily, and some others that will make it impossible to change official records like Montgomery did to cover up his involvement with the Pulgatti case. They're making progress.

"Come on, babe, get some spoons," Kate says softly. "Meet you in the bedroom?"

She pulls back gently and the strand of hair around Castle's finger slides away. He won't tell her, because she'll dye it immediately, but there are exactly three strands of grey in her hair tonight.

He thinks it's incredibly sexy.

His own hair is holding up pretty well. After meeting his dad, he'd been concerned that he'd go prematurely shock-white, but his mother must do less camouflaging than he'd assumed. His crow's feet are deeper, but that's to be expected given the influx of laughter and joy in his life. He's a bit thinner, finds it more difficult to keep muscle on, but other than that, neither of them look much older.

He circumnavigates the kitchen island to grab a pair of spoons and sees a note from his mother on the counter, a bright pink post-it stuck to a single sheet of newspaper.

_Darlings - We've all had a lovely evening here. Off to get my beauty sleep, so I'll see you in the morning. P.S. - Found an article you might appreciate, Richard. x_

He grabs the newspaper and takes it with him, too impatient to read the article right away. After all, Kate's probably getting undressed, and he certainly doesn't want to miss out on that. He crosses the foyer and toes open the bedroom door.

Kate's standing next to the dresser. Her blazer is gone and the top two buttons of her shirt are undone, revealing the alluring curves of her breasts. She leans over to pull a thick folder out of her bag and tosses it on the bed.

Castle knows what's in the folder, and even though they've been awake since four a.m., he knows that they'll be up for another hour or two at least. One of the things Kate had insisted on when she won her first Senate election was to personally review strange homicide cases that have links - no matter how remote - to any of the nation's power players. She came up with the system as a way of catching those laundering money and dabbling in darkness, and so far it's been incredibly effective.

And oh, how he loves solving murders with her. They even have a NYPD-standard whiteboard in their shared office in the Georgetown house.

"Do you, ah, need help getting undressed?" Castle asks, knowing full well there aren't any hidden zippers or tough buttons on her outfit tonight.

"Hmm. Yes, I think so."

Kate turns and leans back against him. She lets her eyes flutter closed as he works on the buttons of her shirt, down, down, down to the clasp on her dress pants.

_CLUNK._

They both freeze.

"Was that the front door?" Castle whispers harshly as Kate stiffens in his arms. She reaches automatically for the gun she no longer wears, then bolts across the room to open the wall safe. Castle grabs a swashbuckling pirate blade from his extensive collection of swords.

They flank the sides of their bedroom door and ease it open.

Everything is still. The room's completely as they left it, deadbolts and safety chains on the front door still in place.

_THUD._

The noise is coming from upstairs.

God, he hopes it's not his mother's bed frame. He'd lectured her about it just last month, and she'd given him the silent treatment for days after he'd insinuated that she was too old for casual conquests.

They have a security detail on the building and bodyguards on them at all times when they're out, so the loft should be safe. It's expensive and it comes from their own pocket, but it's the cost of being a controversial politician. They know better than to mess around with their family's safety.

Without speaking, they continue past Martha's door, and Alexis's, moving on soft feet to the end of the hallway to the most important room.

Kate eases open the door and a hulking black shadow bounds out.

Castle squeaks, his hand flying dramatically to his heart.

"Jesus, Baskerville, you scared the livers out of us," Castle gasps, bending down to scratch their enormous black lab behind his ears. "Go on downstairs, there's food in your bowl."

Kate lets her gun drop to her side. It's clear that the noise was Baskerville's tail thunking against the door. He must have been hungry. She's about to close it, but she can't resist peeking into the room. Castle's chin settles on her shoulder so he can get a glimpse too.

There's no light in the bedroom other than the beam of a single flashlight, which has rolled out of someone's small hand to illuminate the roof of the makeshift tent set up between the two twin beds. Inside, their eight-year old daughter and their four-year old son are fast asleep.

"They made a fort," Castle says, voice full with pride.

"And she was reading to him," Kate whispers wondrously. She removes the magazine from her weapon and passes it handle-side up to Castle. The she steps softly into the room. She crouches at her children's feet and lifts the dinosaur book from where it fell onto her daughter's stomach and sets it carefully aside. She draws the blankets up around their sleeping bodies and, since she can't crawl fully into the lacy tent to kiss their foreheads, she presses her lips to her fingers and transfers a kiss to each of their feet, warm little lumps under the blankets. Then she switches off the flashlight and rejoins her husband at the door.

"I can't wait to spend tomorrow with them."

"Me either. They'll be so proud of you for winning the election."

Kate follows him downstairs and into their bedroom. He grabs the newspaper his mom had left him and sits on the edge of the bed to take his socks and shoes off. She climbs up behind him, kneeling on the mattress and curling her fingers over his shoulders, massaging him through the dark blue of his dress shirt.

"What's that?" she asks, squinting her eyes to read over his shoulder in the dim light.

"My book. It's a glowing review." It's no surprise. The latest Nikki has been on the shelves for a week, and it's the most popular one yet.

"Mmm, well done, Rick." She kisses his neck as she works her thumbs deep into his deltoids.

"I don't think you're reacting appropriately."

She jerks back. "What, you need a bit more ego stroking?"

"It's for my other book."

"Really?" Kate snatches the article from his hand, then jumps childishly backwards to the head of the bed, folding her legs beneath her and devouring the review, her hazel eyes flicking speedily over the words. "Rick, this is amazing!"

He preens.

"Well, I'm glad I convinced you to take the first six chapters out of the recycling bin on your desktop. All fifteen times you put it in there."

"I still think it belongs in the trash. It has no plot. No cliffhangers. No steamy implied sex scenes."

"It's serious literature. It's not supposed to have those things."

He published this one under a pseudonym, went through the proper submissions process instead of handing it to Paula or Gina, so the review is completely merited. He's not resting on his laurels with this one. It was the hardest novel he'd ever penned, and he'd unspooled his heart in the process.

"Listen to this: 'Achingly beautiful … a stellar debut from this writer … let's hope for more torturous perfection from him in the future.' Babe, I'm so proud."

Her smile is wide and exquisite, and her opinion is the one that matters most to him. His heart feels like it's attached to a hundred helium-filled balloons.

""Who would have thought, Richard Castle, author of serious literature? It looks like _almost_ all of that time traveler's prophecies came true," she jokes. She's still a skeptic when it comes to those kinds of things, and she doesn't think that will ever change. If they meet Simon Doyle in 2035 and he hasn't aged, then and only then will she reconsider. Still, that coffee stain had thoroughly creeped her out.

"What do you mean 'almost all' of the prophecies? You're a Senator, I'm the next F. Scott Fitzgerald, we're married and we have kids."

"Well," she purrs, "he did say three kids, didn't he?" She crawls on all fours towards him, her back arched like a cat. She plucks the homicide file from his hands and tosses it unceremoniously on the floor.

"By my calculations, that's two down, one to go."

* * *

_The End._

* * *

Final Author's Notes:

This story is far from perfect, but seeing as it took less than four months to write, I'm pretty damn pleased. It turned out better than I ever could have expected. Thank you all for reading and making this experience so worthwhile.

Thanks again to my online betas Dmarx and trishtumbles, and my real life ones Lily and Henry. You've all made this story infinitely better. Some of the chapters were completely unedited so all typos are mine.

The story of Senator Beckett might have more life in it yet. If you're following, you'll get an email when and if I decide to continue this fic.

I'll also be posting a brand new series the day after the Season 7 premier, so stay tuned!

I write for two reasons: to entertain you lovely readers and to become a better writer, so let me know what you think. Constructive criticism always welcome.

Peace out until next time,

- Bri x


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